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University  of  Illinois  Library 


INEZ 


A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO 


BY 

AUGUSTA  J.  EVANS 

Author  of  “  Beulah."  “  St.  Elmo,”  “  Inf  slue”  “  Mtuario”  Etc. 


NEW  YORK 

THE  FEDERAL,  BOOK  COMPANY 


PUBLISHERS 


!S  I  3 

i.  w  k  %  1 1  *\ 

'i 

I 


o 


V 


TO 

THE  TEXAN  PATRIOTS, 

WHO  TRIUMPHANTLY 
UNFURLED  AND  WAVED  ALOFT 
THE 

"  BANNER  OF  THE  LONE  STAR !  ”  WHO 
WRENCHED  ASUNDER 

THE  IRON  BANDS  OF  DESPOTIC  MEXICO  !  AND  WREATHED 
THE  BROW  OF  THE  “  QUEEN  STATE  ” 

WITH 

THE  GLORIOUS  CHAPLET  OF  “  CIVIL  AND 
RELIGIOUS  LIBERTY  !  n  THIS 
WORK  IS 

RESPECTFULLY  DEDICATED  BY 
THE  AUTHOR 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO, 


CHAPTER  I. 

u  But  O,  th’  important  budget ! 

Who  can  say  what  are  its  tidings  ?" 

Cowper. 

“  There  is  the  bell  for  prayers,  Florry  ;  are  you  ready  ?  * 
said  Mary  Irving,  hastily  entering  her  cousin’s  room  at  the 
large  boarding-school  of  Madame - . 

“  Yes  ;  I  rose  earlier  than  usual  this  morning,  have  solved 
two  problems,  and  translated  nearly  half  a  page  of  Tele- 
maque.” 

“  I  congratulate  you  on  your  increased  industry  and  ap¬ 
plication,  though  you  were  always  more  studious  than  my¬ 
self.  I  wish,  dear  Florry,  you  could  imbue  me  with  some  of 
your  fondness  for  metaphysics  and  mathematics,”  Mary 
replied,  with  a  low  sigh. 

A  momentary  flush  passed  over  the  face  of  her  compan¬ 
ion,  and  they  descended  the  stairs  in  silence.  The  room  in 
which  the  pupils  were  accustomed  to  assemble  for  devotion 
was  not  so  spacious  as  the  class-room,  yet  sufficiently  so  to 
look  gloomy  enough  in  the  gray  light  of  a  drizzling  morn. 
The  floor  was  covered  with  a  faded  carpet,  in  which  the  in¬ 
distinct  vine  seemed  struggling  to  reach  the  wall,  but  failed 
by  several  feet  on  either  side.  As  if  to  conceal  this  defi¬ 
ciency,  a  wide  seat  was  affixed  the  entire  length  of  the  room, 
so  high 

% 

“  That  the  feet  hung  dangling  down, 

Anxious  in  vain  to  find  the  distant  floor.” 

There  were  no  curtains  to  the  windows,  and  the  rain  nat¬ 
tered  drearily  down  the  panes. 


1 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


The  teacher  who  officiated  as  chaplain  was  seated  before 
a  large  desk,  on  which  lay  an  open  Bible.  He  seemed  about 
twenty-four,  his  countenance  noble  rather  than  handsome,  if 
•  I  may  make  so  delicate  a  distinction.  Intelligence  of  the 
first  order  was  stamped  upon  it,  yet  the  characteristic  ex* 
pression  was  pride  which  sat  enthroned  on  his  prominent 
brow ;  still,  hours  of  care  had  left  their  impress,  and  the  face 
was  very  grave,  though  by  no  means  stern.  His  eye  was 
fixed  on  the  door  as  the  pupils  came  in,  one  by  one,  for 
prayers,  and  when  Florence  and  Mary  entered,  it  sunk  upon 
his  book.  In  a  few  moments  he  rose,  and,  standing  with 
one  arm  folded  across  his  bosom,  read  in  a  deep,  distinct 
tone,  that  beautiful  Psalm,  “  The  Lord  is  my  shepherd.”  He 
had  only  reached  the  fourth  verse,  when  he  was  interrupted 
by  two  girls  of  twelve  or  fourteen,  who  had  been  conversing 
from  the  moment  of  their  entrance.  The  tones  grew  louder 
and  louder,  and  now  the  words  were  very  audible : 

“  My  father  did  not  send  me  here  to  come  to  prayers,  and 
Madame  has  no  right  to  make  us  get  up  before  day  to  hear 
him  read  his  Bible  !  ” 

Many  who  coincided  with  them  tittered,  others  stared  in 
silence,  while  Florence’s  lip  curled,  and  Mary  looked  sorrow* 
ingly,  pityingly  upon  them — hers  was  the  expression  with 
which  the  angel  multitudes  of  Heaven  regard  their  erring 
brethren  here.  The  chaplain  turned  toward  them,  and  said, 
in  a  grave  yet  gentle  voice,  “  My  little  friends,  I  am  afraid 
you  did  not  kneel  beside  your  bed  this  morning,  and  ask  God 
to  keep  your  hearts  from  sinful  thoughts,  and  enable  you  to 
perform  all  your  duties  in  a  humble,  gentle  spirit.  In  your 
present  temper,  were  I  to  read  the  entire  book  instead  of 
one  Psalm,  I  fear  you  would  receive  no  benefit.” 

The  girls  were  awed  more  by  the  tone  than  words,  and  sat 
silent  and  abashed.  The  reading  was  concluded,  and  then 
he  offered  up  a  prayer  earnest  and  heartfelt.  Instead  of 
}eaving  the  room  immediately,  the  pupils  waited  as  for  some¬ 
thing,  and  taking  a  bundle  of  letters  from  the  desk,  their 
tutor  distributed  them  as  the  direction  indicated. 

“  My  budget  is  not  so  large  as  usual,  and  I  regret  it  for 
your  sakes,  as  I  fear  some  are  disappointed.  Miss  Hamil¬ 
ton,  here  are  two  for  you ;  ”  and  he  handed  them  to  her 
without  looking  up. 


*NEZ :  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 


3 


«  Two  for  Florry,  and  none  for  me  ?  ”  asked  Mary,  while 
her  voice  slightly  trembled.  He  was  leaving  the  room,  but 
turned  toward  her. 

“  I  am  very  sorry,  Miss  Mary,  but  hope  you  will  find  a 
comforting  message  in  your  cousin’s.” 

Gently  he  spoke,  yet  his  eyes  rested  on  Florence  the  while, 
and,  with  a  suppressed  sigh,  he  passed  on.  “  Come  to  my 
room,  Mary;  it  is  strange  the  letters  are  postmarked  the 
same  day.”  And  while  she  solves  the  mystery,  let  us  glance 
at  her  former  history. 


CHAPTER  II. 

*Calm  on  the  bosom  of  thy  God, 

Fair  spirit !  rest  thee  now ! 

Ev’n  while  with  us  thy  footsteps  trod, 

His  seal  was  on  thy  brow.” 

Hemans. 

Florence  Hamilton  had  but  attained  her  fourth  year 
when  she  was  left  the  only  solace  of  her  widowed  father. 
Even  after  the  lapse  of  long  years,  faint,  yet  sweet  recollec¬ 
tions  of  her  lost  parent  stole,  in  saddened  hours,  over  her 
spirit,  and  often,  in  dreams,  a  face  of  angelic  beauty  hovered 
around,  and  smiled  upon  her. 

Unfortunately,  Florence  proved  totally  unlike  her  sainted 
mother,  both  in  personal  appearance  and  cast  of  character. 
Mr.  Hamilton  was  a  cold,  proud  man  of  the  world ;  one  who, 
having  lived  from  his  birth  in  affluence,  regarded  with  a 
haughty  eye  all  whr,  without  the  advantages  of  rank  or 
wealth,  strove  to  attain  a  position  equal  to  his  own.  Intel¬ 
ligence,  nobility  of  soul,  unsullied  character,  weighed  not  an 
atom  against  the  counterpoise  of  birth  and  family.  He  en¬ 
joyed  in  youth  advantages  rare  for  the  unsettled  times  in 
which  he  lived ;  he  tasted  all  that  France  and  Italy  could 
offer ;  and  returned  blase  at  twenty-seven  to  his  home  in  one 
of  the  Southern  States.  Attracted  by  the  brilliant  fortune  of 
an  orphan  heiress,  he  won  and  married  her ;  but  love,  such 
as  her  pure,  gentle  spirit  sought,  dwelt  not  in  his  stern,  self- 


♦ 


INEZ :  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


ish  heart.  All  of  affection  he  had  to  bestow  was  lavished 
on  his  only  sister,  who  had  married  during  his  absence. 

His  angel  wife  drooped  in  the  sterile  soil  to  which  she 
was  transplanted,  and,  when  Florence  was  about  four  years 
old,  sunk  into  a  quiet  grave. 

Perhaps  when  he  stood  with  his  infant  daughter  beside 
the  newly-raised  mound,  and  missed  the  gentle  being  who 
had  endeavored  so  strenuously  to  make  his  home  happy, 
and  to  win  for  herself  a  place  in  his  heart,  one  tear  might 
have  moistened  the  cold,  searching  eyes  that  for  years  had 
known  no  such  softening  tendency.  “  Perhaps,”  I  say ;  but 
to  conjecture  of  thee,  oh  Man  !  is  fruitless  indeed. 

As  well  as  such  a  nature  could,  he  loved  his  child,  and 
considered  himself  extremely  magnanimous  in  casting  aside 
all  thought  of  a  second  marriage,  and  devoting  his  leisure 
moments  to  the  formation  of  her  character,  and  direction  of 
her  education. 

Florence  inherited  her  father’s  haughty  temperament 
without  his  sordid  selfishness,  and  what  may  seem  incom¬ 
patible  with  the  former,  a  glowing  imagination  in  connec¬ 
tion  with  fine  mental  powers.  To  all  but  Mr.  Hamilton  she 
appeared  as  cold  and  impenetrable  as  himself  ;  but  the  flash¬ 
ing  eye  and  curling  lip  with  which  she  listened  to  a  tale  of 
injustice,  or  viewed  a  dishonorable  act,  indicated  a  nature 
truly  noble.  Two  master  passions  ruled  her  heart — love  for 
her  parent,  and  fondness  for  books.  Idolized  by  the  house¬ 
hold,  it  was  not  strange  that  she  soon  learned  to  consider 
herself  the  most  important  member  of  it.  Mr.  Hamilton 
found  that  it  was  essential  for  the  proper  regulation  of  his 
establishment  that  some  lady  should  preside  over  its  various 
departments,  and  accordingly  invited  the  maiden  sister  of 
his  late  wife  to  make  his  house  her  home,  and  take  charge  of 
his  numerous  domestics. 

Of  his  daughter  he  said  nothing.  Aunt  Lizzy,  as  she  was 
called,  was  an  amiable,  good  woman,  but  not  sufficiently  in¬ 
tellectual  to  superintend  Florry’s  education.  That  little  in¬ 
dividual  looked  at  first  with  distrustful  eyes  on  one  who,  she 
supposed,  might  abridge  her  numerous  privileges  ;  but  the 
affectionate  manner  of  the  kind-hearted  aunt  removed  all 
fear,  and  she  soon  spoke  and  moved  with  the  freedom  which 
had  characterized  her  solitude. 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 


5 


One  day,  when  Florence  was  about  nine  years  old,  her 
lather  entered  the  library,  where  she  sat  intently  reading, 
and  said, 

“  Florence,  come  here,  I  have  something  to  tell  you.” 

“  Something  to  tell  me  !  I  hope  it  is  pleasant ;  ”  and  she 
laid  her  hand  on  his  knee,  and  looked  inquiringly  in  his  face. 

“  You  remember  the  cousin  Mary,  whose  father  died  not 
long  ago  ?  Well,  she  has  lost  her  mother  too,  and  is  coming 
to  live  with  us.”  As  he  spoke,  his  voice  faltered,  and  his 
proud  curling  lip  quivered,  yet  he  gave  no  other  evidence  of 
the  deepest  grief  he  had  known  for  many  years. 

“  She  will  be  here  this  evening,  and  I  hope  you  will  try 
to  make  her  contented.”  With  these  words  he  was  leaving 
the  room  but  Florence  said, 

“  Father,  is  she  to  stay  with  us  always,  and  will  she  sleep 
in  my  room,  with  me  ?  ” 

“  She  will  live  with  us  as  long  as  she  likes,  and,  if  you 
prefer  it,  can  occupy  the  same  room.” 

The  day  wore  on,  and  evening  found  her  on  the  steps, 
looking  earnestly  down  the  avenue  for  the  approach  of  the 
little  stranger. 

At  length  a  heavy  carriage  drove  to  the  door,  and  Florry 
leaned  forward  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  inmate’s  face.  A 
slight  form,  clad  in  deep  mourning,  was  placed  on  the  piazza 
by  the  coachman. 

Mr.  Hamilton  shook  her  hand  kindly,  and,  after  a  few 
words  of  welcome,  said, 

“  Here  is  your  cousin  Florence,  Mary.  I  hope  you  will 
love  each  other,  and  be  happy,  good  little  girls.”  Mary 
looked  almost  fearfully  at  her  proud  young  cousin,  but  the 
sight  of  her  own  pale,  tearful  face  touched  Florry’s  heart, 
and  she  threw  her  arms  round  her  neck  and  kissed  her. 
The  embrace  was  unexpected,  and  Mary  wept  bitterly. 

“  Florence,  why  don’t  you  take  Mary  to  her  room  ?  ” 

“  Would  you  like  to  go  up-stairs,  cousin  ?  ” 

“  Oh  yes  !  if  you  please,  I  had  much  rather.”  And  tak¬ 
ing  her  basket  from  her  hand,  Florry  led  the  way. 

Mary  took  off  her  bonnet,  and  turned  to  look  again  at  her 
cousin.  Their  eyes  met ;  but,  as  if  overcome  by  some  sud¬ 
den  recollection,  she  buried  her  face  in  her  hands  and  burst 
again  into  tears. 


t  a‘A EZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 

Florence  stood  for  some  time  in  silence,  at  length  she  said 
gently, 

“  It  is  almost  tea-time,  and  father  will  be  angry  if  he  sees 
you  have  been  crying.” 

“  Oh !  I  can’t  help  it,  indeed  I  can’t,”  sobbed  the  little 
mourner,  “  he  is  so  much  like  my  dear,  darling  mother ;  ” 
and  she  stifled  a  cry  of  agony. 

“  Is  my  father  like  your  mother,  cousin  Mary  ?  ” 

“  Oh  yes !  When  he  spoke  to  me  just  now,  I  almost 
thought  it  was  mother.” 

A  tear  rolled  over  Florry’s  cheek,  and  she  slowly  replied, 
“  I  wish  I  knew  somebody  that  looked  like  my  mother.” 
In  that  hour  was  forged  the  chain  which  bound  them  through 
life,  and  made  them  one  in  interest. 

Years  rolled  on,  and  found  Mary  happy  in  her  adopted 
home.  If  her  uncle  failed  to  caress  her  as  her  loving  heart 
desired,  she  did  not  complain,  for  she  was  treated  like  her 
cousin,  and  found  in  the  strong  love  of  Florence  an  antidote 
for  every  care.  Mary  was  about  sixteen,  and  Florence  a  few 
months  younger,  at  the  time  our  story  opens,  and  had  been 
placed  in  New  Orleans  to  acquire  French  and  music,  as  good 
masters  could  not  be  obtained  nearer  home.  We  have  seen 
them  there,  and,  hoping  the  reader  will  pardon  this  digres¬ 
sion,  return  to  Florry’s  letter. 


CHAPTER  III. 

“  Philosophy  can  hold  an  easy  triumph  over  past  and  future  misfor¬ 
tunes  ;  but  those  which  are  present,  triumph  over  her.” 

Rochefoucault. 

A  striking  difference  in  personal  appearance  was  pre¬ 
sented  by  the  cousins,  as  they  stood  together.  Florence, 
though  somewhat  younger,  was  taller  by  several  inches,  and 
her  noble  and  erect  carriage,  in  connection  with  the  haughty 
manner  in  which  her  head  was  thrown  back,  added  in  effect 
to  her  height.  Her  hair  and  eyes  were  brilliant  black,  the 
latter  particularly  thoughtful  in  their  expression.  The  fore- 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 


7 


head  was  not  remarkable  for  height,  but  was  unusually 
prominent  and  white,  and  almost  overhung  the  eyes.  The 
mouth  was  perfect,  the  lips  delicately  chiseled,  and  curving 
beautifully  toward  the  full  dimpled  chin.  The  face,  though 
intellectual,  and  artistically  beautiful,  was  not  prepossessing. 
The  expression  was  cold  and  haughty  ;  and  for  this  reason 
she  had  received  the  appellations  of  “  Minerva  ”  and  “  Juno/’ 
such  being  considered  by  her  fellow-pupils  as  singularly 
appropriate. 

Mary,  on  the  contrary,  was  slight  and  drooping,  and  her 
sweet,  earnest  countenance,  elicited  the  love  of  the  beholder, 
even  before  an  intimate  acquaintance  had  brought  to  view 
the  beautiful  traits  of  her  truly  amiable  character. 

And  yet  these  girls,  diametrically  opposed  in  disposition, 
clung  to  each  other  with  a  strength  of  affection  only  to  be 
explained  by  that  strongest  of  all  ties,  early  association. 

Florence  broke  the  seal  of  her  letter,  and  Mary  walked  to 
the  window.  It  looked  out  on  a  narrow  street,  through  which 
drays  rattled  noisily,  and  occasional  passengers  picked  their 
way  along  its  muddy  crossings. 

Mary  stood  watching  the  maneuvers  of  a  little  girl,  who 
was  endeavoring  to  pass  dry-shod,  when  a  low  groan  startled 
her;  and  turning  quickly,  she  perceived  Florence  standing 
in  the  center  of  the  room,  the  letter  crumpled  in  one  hand : 
her  face  had  grown  very  pale,  and  the  large  eyes  gleamed 
strangely. 

“  Oh  !  Florry,  what  is  the  matter  ?  Is  your  father  ill — 
dead — tell  me  quick  ?  ”  and  imploringly  she  clasped  her 
hands. 

Florence  made  a  powerful  effort,  and  spoke,  in  her  usual 
tone : 

“  I  was  foolish  to  give  way  to  my  feelings,  even  for  a 
moment — my  father  is  well.”  She  paused,  and  then  added, 
as  if  painfully,  “  But,  oh !  he  is  almost  penniless  !  ” 

“  Penniless  !  ”  echoed  Mary,  as  though  she  could  not  com¬ 
prehend  her  cousin’s  meaning. 

“  Yes,  Mary,  he  has  been  very  unfortunate  in  his  specu¬ 
lations,  obliged  to  sell  our  plantation  and  negroes,  and  now, 
he  says,  1  a  few  paltry  thousands  only  remain  ;  ’  but,  oh  l 
that  is  not  the  worst ;  I  wish  it  were,  he  has  sold  out  every¬ 
thing.  broken  every  tie,  and  will  be  here  this  evening  on  his 


8 


.  H  TALE  OF  THE  ALA  Mi, 


way  to  Texas.  He  writes  that  I  must  be  ready  to  accom* 
pany  him  to-morrow  night.” 

She  paused,  as  if  unwilling  to  add  something  which  must 
be  told,  and  looked  sadly  at  her  cousin. 

Mary  understood  the  glance. 

“  Florry,  there  is  something  in  the  letter  relating  to  myself, 
which  you  withhold  for  fear  of  giving  me  pain :  the  sooner 
I  learn  it  the  better.” 

“  Mary,  here  is  a  letter  inclosed  for  you ;  but  first  hear 
what  my  father  says,”  and  hurriedly  she  read  as  follows : 

. “  With  regard  to  Mary,  it  cannot  be  expected 

that  she  should  wish  to  accompany  us  on  our  rugged  path, 
and  bitterly,  bitterly  do  I  regret  our  separation.  Her  pa¬ 
ternal  uncle,  now  in  affluence,  has  often  expressed  a  desire 
to  have  her  with  him,  and,  since  my  misfortunes,  has  writ¬ 
ten  me,  offering  her  a  home  in  his  family.  Every  luxury 
and  advantage  afforded  by  wealth  can  still  be  hers.  Did  I 
not  feel  that  she  would  be  benefited  by  this  separation, 
nothing  could  induce  me  to  part  with  her,  but,  under  exist¬ 
ing  circumstances,  I  can  consent  to  give  her  up.” 

Florence  flung  the  letter  from  her  as  she  concluded,  and 
approaching  her  cousin,  clasped  her  arms  fondly  about  her. 
Mary  had  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and  the  tears 
glistened  on  her  slender  fingers. 

“  Oh,  Florry,  you  don’t  know  how  pained  and  hurt  I  am, 
that  uncle  should  think  I  could  be  so  ungrateful  as  to  forget, 
in  the  moment  of  adversity,  his  unvaried  kindness  for  six 
long  years.  Oh  1  it  is  cruel  in  him  to  judge  me  so  harshly,” 
and  she  sobbed  aloud. 

“  I  will  not  be  left,  I  will  go  with  him,  that  is  if — -if— 
Florry,  tell  me  candidly,  do  you  think  he  has  any  other  rea¬ 
son  for  not  taking  me,  except  my  fancied  dislike  to  leaving 
this  place — tell  me  ?  ” 

“  No,  dear  Mary;  if  he  thought  you  preferred  going  with 
us,  no  power  on  earth  could  induce  him  to  leave  you.” 

Mary  placed  her  hand  in  her  cousin’s,  and  murmured, 

“  Florry,  I  will  go  with  you ;  your  home  shall  be  my  home, 
and  your  sorrows  my  sorrows.” 

A  flash  of  joy  irradiated  Florence’s  pale  face  as  she  re¬ 
turned  her  cousin’s  warm  embrace. 

“  With  you,  Mary,  to  comfort  and  assist  me,  I  feat 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


9 

nothing ;  but  you  have  not  yet  read  your  uncle’s  letter,  per¬ 
haps  its  contents  may  influence  your  decision.” 

Mary  perused  it  in  silence,  and  then  put  it  in  her  cousin’s 
hand,  while  the  tears  rolled  over  her  cheeks. 

“  Mary,  think  well  ere  you  reject  this  kind  offer.  Remem¬ 
ber  how  earnestly  he  entreats  that  you  will  come  and  share 
his  love,  his  home,  and  his  fortune.  Many  privations  will 
be  ours,  in  the  land  to  which  we  go,  and  numberless  trials 
assail  the  poverty-stricken.  All  these  you  can  avoid,  by  ac« 
cepting  this  very  affectionate  invitation.  Think  well,  Mary, 
lest  in  after-years  you  repent  your  hasty  decision.” 

There  came  a  long  pause,  and  hurriedly  Florence  paced 
to  and  fro.  Mary  lifted  her  bowed  head,  and  pushing  back 
her  clustering  hair,  calmly  replied,  “  My  heart  swells  with 
gratitude  toward  my  noble,  generous  uncle.  Oh,  how  fer¬ 
vently  I  can  thank  him  for  his  proffered  home  l  yet,  sepa¬ 
rated  from  you,  dear  Florry,  I  could  not  be  happy ;  my  heart 
would  ache  for  you,  and  your  warm,  trusting  love.  I  fear 
neither  poverty  nor  hardships.  Oh,  let  me  go  with  you,  and 
cheer  and  assist  my  dear  uncle  !  ” 

“  You  shall  go  with  us,  my  pure-hearted  cousin.  When 
I' thought  a  moment  since,  of  parting  with  you,  my  future 
seemed  gloomy  indeed,  but  now  I  know  that  you  will  be 
near,  I  am  content.” 

A  short  silence  ensued,  broken  by  a  mournful  exclama¬ 
tion  from  Florence. 

“  Ah !  Mary,  it  is  not  for  myself  that  I  regret  this  change 
of  fortune,  but  for  my  proud,  haughty  father,  who  will  suffer 
so  keenly.  Oh,  my  heart  aches  when  I  think  of  him !  ” 

“  Florry,  we  must  cheer  him  by  those  thousand  little  at- 
attentions,  which  will  lead  him  to  forget  his  pecuinary 
troubles.” 

Florence  shook  her  head. 

“  You  do  not  know  my  father  as  I  do.  He  will  have  no 
comforters,  broods  over  difficulties  in  secret,  and  shrinks 
from  sympathy  as  from  a  ‘  scorching  brand.’  ” 

“  Still,  I  think  we  can  do  much  to  lighten  his  cares,  and 
I  pray  God  I  may  not  be  mistaken,  replied  Mary.” 

Florence  lifted  her  head  from  her  palm  and  gazed  vacantly 
at  her  cousin,  then  started  from  her  seat. 

“  Mary.  must  not  sit  here  idly,  when  there  is  so  much 


IO 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 


to  do.  Madame  -  should  know  we  leave  to-morrow, 

and  it  will  take  us  all  day  to  prepare  for  our  journey.” 

4 4  Do  let  me  go  and  speak  to  Madame - ;  it  will  be 

less  unpleasant  to  me  ?  ” 

44  No,  no ;  I  will  go  myself ;  they  shall  not  think  I  feel  it 
so  sensibly,  and  their  condolence  to-morrow  would  irritate 
me  beyond  measure.  I  scorn  such  petty  trials  as  loss  of 
fortune,  and  they  shall  know  it.” 

44  Who  shall  know  it,  Florry  ?  ” 

Her  cheek  flushed,  but  without  a  reply  she  left  the  room, 

and  descended  the  steps  which  led  to  Madame - ’s  parlor. 

Reaching  the  door,  she  drew  herself  proudly  up,  then 
knocked. 

44  Come  in,”  was  the  response. 

She  did  so.  In  the  center  of  the  apartment,  with  an 
open  book  on  the  table  before  him,  sat  the  teacher  who 
officiated  at  prayers.  He  rose  and  bowed  coldly  in  answer 
to  her  salutation. 

44  Pardon  my  intrusion,  Mr.  Stewart.  I  expected  to  find 
Madame  here.” 

44  She  has  gohe  to  spend  the  morning  with  an  invalid 
sister,  and  requested  me  to  take  charge  of  her  classes,  in 
addition  to  my  own.  If  I  can  render  you  any  assistance, 
Miss  Hamilton,  I  am  at  your  service.” 

44  Thank  you,  I  am  in  need  of  no  assistance,  and  merely 
wished  to  say  to  Madame  that  I  should  leave  New  Orleans 
to-morrow,  having  heard  from  my  father  that  he  will  be  here 
in  the  evening  boat.” 

44 1  will  inform  her  of  your  intended  departure  as  early  as 
possible.” 

44  You  will  oblige  me  by  doing  so,”  replied  Florence,  turn¬ 
ing  to  go. 

44  Miss  Hamilton,  may  I  ask  you  if  your  cousin  accom¬ 
panies  you  ?  ” 

44  She  does,”  was  the  laconic  answer,  and  slowly  she  re¬ 
traced  her  steps,  and  stood  at  her  own  door.  The  cheeks 
had  become  colorless,  and  the  delicate  lips  writhed  with 
pain.  She  paused  a  moment,  then  entered. 

44  Did  you  see  her,  Florry  ?  ” 

44  No,  she  is  absent,  but  I  left  word  for  her.” 

Her  tone  was  hard,  dry,  as  though  she  had  been  striving 


II 


sNEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 

long  for  some  goal,  which,  when  nearly  attained,  her  failing 
strength  was  scarce  able  to  grasp.  It  was  the  echo  of  a 
fearful  struggle  that  had  raged  in  her  proud  bosom.  The 
knell  it  seemed  of  expiring  exertion,  of  sinking  resistance. 
Mary  gazed  sadly  on  her  cousin,  who  stood  mechanically 
smoothing  her  glossy  black  hair.  The  haughty  features 
seemed  chiseled  in  marble,  so  cold,  stony  was  the  expression. 

“  Dear  Florry  !  you  look  harassed  and  weary  already. 
Why,  why  will  you  overtask  your  strength,  merely  to  be  called 
a  disciple  of  Zeno  ?  Surely  you  cannot  seriously  desire  so 
insignificant  an  honor,  if  it  merits  that  title  ?  ” 

44  Can,  you,  then,  see  no  glory  in  crushing  long-cherished 
hopes — nay,  when  your  heart  is  yearning  toward  some 
4  bright  particular  ’  path,  to  turn  without  one  symptom  of 
regret,  and  calmly  tread  one  just  the  opposite  !  Tell  me, 
can  you  perceive  nothing  elevating  in  this  Stoical  com¬ 
mand  ?  ” 

The  cold,  vacant  look  had  passed  away ;  her  dark  eyes 
gleamed,  glittered  as  with  anticipated  triumph. 

44  Florry,  I  do  not  understand  you  exactly  ;  but  I  do  know 
that  command  of  the  heart  is  impossible,  from  the  source 
whence  you  draw.  It  may  seem  perfect  control  now,  but 
it  will  fail  you  in  the  dark  hour  of  your  need,  if  many  trials 
should  assail.  Oh !  my  cousin,  do  not  be  angry  if  I  say 
4  you  have  forsaken  the  fountain  of  living  water,  and  hewn 
out  for  yourself  broken  cisterns,  which  hold  no  water.’  Oh  1 
Florry,  before  you  take  another  step,  return  to  Him,  4  who 
has  a  balm  for  every  wound.’  ” 

Florence’s  face  softened  ;  an  expression  of  relief  began  to 
steal  over  her  countenance ;  but  as  Mary  ceased  speaking, 
she  turned  her  face,  beautiful  in  its  angelic  purity,  full 
upon  her.  A  bitter  smile  curled  Florence’s  lip,  and  mutter¬ 
ing  hoarsely,  44  A  few  more  hours  and  the  struggle  will  be 
over,”  she  turned  to  her  bureau,  and  arranged  her  clothes 
for  packing. 

The  day  passed  in  preparation,  and  twilight  found  the 
cousins  watching  intently  at  the  casement.  The  great  clock 
in  the  hall  chimed  out  seven,  the  last  stroke  died  away,  and 
then  the  sharp  clang  of  the  door-bell  again  broke  silence. 
They  started  to  their  feet,  heard  the  street  door  open  and 
close — *then  steps  along  the  stairs,  \iearer  and  nearer — then 


12 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 


came  a  knock  at  the  door.  Mary  opened  it ;  the  servant 
handed  in  a  card  and  withdrew.  “  Mr.  J.  A.  Hamilton.” 
Florence  passed  out,  Mary  remained  behind. 

“  Come,  why  do  you  linger  ?  ” 

“  I  thought,  Florry,  you  might  wish  to  see  him  alone  ; 
perhaps  he  would  prefer  it.” 

“  Mary,  you  have  identified  yourself  with  us.  To  my 
father  we  must  be  as  one.”  She  extended  her  hand,  and 
the  next  moment  they  stood  in  the  reception-room. 

The  father  and  uncle  were  standing  with  folded  arms, 
looking  down  into  the  muddy  street  below.  He  advanced 
to  meet  them,  holding  out  a  hand  to  each.  Florence  pressed 
her  lips  to  the  one  she  held,  and  exclaimed, 

“  My  dear  father,  how  glad  I  am  to  see  you  !  ” 

“  Glad  to  see  me  !  You  did  not  receive  my  letters  then  ? 

“  Yes,  I  did,  but  are  their  contents  and  pleasure  at  meet¬ 
ing  you  incompatible  ?  ” 

He  made  no  reply,  and  then  Mary  said,  in  a  low,  tremu¬ 
lous  tone, 

“  Uncle,  you  have  done  me  a  great  injury,  and  you  must 
make  me  all  the  reparation  in  your  power.  “  You  said,  in 
your  letter  to  Florry,  that  you  did  not  think  I  would  wish 
to  go  with  you.  Oh,  uncle  !  you  do  not,  cannot  believe  me 
so  ungrateful,  so  devoid  of  love  as  to  wish,  under  any  cir¬ 
cumstances,  to  be  separated  from  you.  Now  ease  my  heart, 
and  say  I  may  share  your  new  home.  I  should  be  very 
miserable  away  from  you.” 

An  expression  of  pleasure  passed  over  his  face,  but  again 
the  brow  darkened. 

“  Mary  !  Florence  is  my  child — my  destiny  hers,  my  mis¬ 
fortunes  hers  ;  but  I  have  no  right  to  drag  you  with  me  in 
my  fall ;  to  deprive  you  of  the  many  advantages  that  will 
be  afforded,  by  your  uncle’s  wealth,  of  the  social  position 
you  may  one  day  attain.” 

“  Uncle  !  uncle  !  am  I  not  your  child  by  adoption  ?  Have 
you  not  loved  and  cared  for  me  during  long  years  ?  Oh  1 
what  do  I  care  for  wealth — for  what  you  call  a  high  posi¬ 
tion  in  the  world  ?  You  and  Florry  are  my  world.”  Sh* 
threw  her  arms  about  his  neck,  and  sobbed,  “  Take  me !  oh, 
take  me  with  you  !  ” 

“  If  you  so  earnestly  desire  it,  you  shall  indeed  go  with 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO.  .3 

us,  my  Mary.”  And,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  he  im¬ 
printed  a  kiss  on  her  brow. 

When  he  departed,  it  was  with  a  promise  to  call  for  them 
the  next  morning,  that  they  might  make,  with  their  aunt, 
some  necessary  purchases,  and  remove  to  a  hotel  near  the 

river. 

Everything  was  packed  the  ensuing  day,  when  Mary  sud¬ 
denly  remembered  that  her  books  were  still  in  the  recitation- 
room,  and  would  have  gone  for  them,  but  Florence  said, 

“  I  will  bring  up  the  books,  Mary  ;  you  are  tired  and  pale 
with  bending  so  long  over  that  trunk.”  And  accordingly 
she  went. 

Mary  threw  herself  on  the  couch  to  rest  a  moment,  and 
fell  into  a  reverie  of  some  length,  unheeding  the  flying 
minutes,  when  she  recollected  that  Florence  had  been  ab¬ 
sent  a  long  time,  and  rising,  was  about  to  seek  her;  just 
then  her  cousin  entered.  A  change  had  come  over  her 
countenance — peace,  quiet,  happiness  reigned  supreme. 

One  hour  later,  and  they  had  gone  from  Madame - ’s, 

never  to  return  again. 


CHAPTER  IV 

“  Time  the  supreme  !  Time  is  eternity, 

Pregnant  with  all  eternity  can  give  ; 

With  all  that  makes  archangels  smile 
Who  murders  time,  he  crushes  in  the  birth 
A  power  ethereal.” 

Young. 

A  year  had  passed  away.  “  How  paradoxical  is  the 
signification  of  the  term  !  ”  How  vast,  when  we  consider 
that  each  hour  hastens  the  end  of  our  pilgrimage  !  How  in¬ 
significant  in  comparison  with  futurity !  A  single  drop  in 
the  boundless  deep  of  eternity  !  Oh  Time  !  thou  greatest 
of  all  anomalies !  Friend  yet  foe,  “  preserver  and  yet  de¬ 
stroyer  !  ”  Whence  art  thou,  great  immemorial  ?  When 
shall  thy  wondrous  mechanism  be  dissolved  ?  When  shall 
the  “  pall  of  obscurity  ”  descend  on  thy  Herculean  net-work  ? 


14 


INEZ :  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


Voices  of  the  past  echo  through  thy  deserted  temples,  and 
shriek  along  thy  bulwarks — Never,  no  never  ! 

Season  had  followed  season  in  rapid  succession,  and  the 
last  rays  of  an  August  sun  illumined  a  scene  so  beautiful, 
that  I  long  for  the  pencil  of  a  Claude  Lorraine.  It  was  a 
far-off  town,  in  a  far-off  state,  yet  who  has  gazed  on  thy 
loveliness,  oh,  San  Antonio,  can  e’er  forget  thee !  Thine 
was  the  sweetness  of  nature ;  no  munificent  hand  had 
arranged,  with  artistic  skill,  a  statue  here,  a  fountain  there. 

The  river  wound  like  an  azure  girdle  round  the  town  \ 
not  confined  by  precipitous  banks,  but  gliding  along  the  sur¬ 
face,  as  it  were,  and  reflecting,  in  its  deep  blue  waters,  the 
rustling  tule  which  fringed  the  margin.  An  occasional 
pecan  or  live-oak  flung  a  majestic  shadow  athwart  its  azure 
bosom,  and  now  and  then  a  clump  of  willows  sighed  low  in 
the  evening  breeze. 

Far  away  to  the  north  stretched  a  mountain  range,  blue 
in  the  distance  ;  to  the  south,  the  luxuriant  valley  of  the 
stream.  The  streets  were  narrow,  and  wound  with  a  total 
disregard  of  the  points  of  the  compass.  Could  a  stranger 
have  been  placed  blindfold  in  one  of  them,  and  then  allowed 
to  look  about  him,  the  flat  roofs  and  light  appearance  of 
most  of  the  houses  would  have  forced  him  to  declare  that  he 
had  entered  a  tropical  town  of  the  far  east. 

Many  of  the  buildings  were  of  musquit  pickets,  set  up¬ 
right  in  the  ground,  lashed  together  with  strips  of  hide,  and 
thatched  with  the  tule  before  mentioned.  There  were  scarce 
three  plank-floors  in  the  town ;  by  far  the  greater  number 
being  composed  of  layers  of  pebbles,  lime,  and  sand,  rolled 
with  a  heavy  piece  of  timber  till  quite  compact ;  daily  sprin¬ 
kling  was  found  necessary,  however,  to  keep  down  the  dust, 
produced  by  constant  friction. 

The  wealthy  inhabitants  built  of  sun-dried  bricks,  over¬ 
cast  with  a  kind  of  stucco.  Yet,  unfortunately,  the  plaster¬ 
ing  art  died  with  the  Montezumas,  for  the  most  vivid  imag¬ 
ination  failed  to  convert  this  rough  coating  into  the  “  silver 
sheen  ”  which  so  dazzled  Cortes’s  little  band.  The  reader 
will  exclaim,  “  I  can  fancy  no  beauty  from  so  prosy  a  de¬ 
scription.  Thatched  roofs  and  dirt  floors,  how  absurd  !  ” 

Although  a  strict  analysis  might  prove  detrimental,  I 
assure  you  the  tout  ensemble  was  picturesque  indeed. 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 


*5 

“  Italia  !  oh  Italia !  thou  who  hast 
The  fatal  gift  of  beauty.” 

Art  rivaled  here.  Thy  gorgeous  skies  have  floated  hither, 
and  hover  like  a  halo  round  the  town.  The  sun  had  set ; 
the  glowing  tints  faded  fast,  till  of  the  brilliant  spectacle 
naught  remained  save  the  soft  roseate  hue  which  melted 
insensibly  into  the  deep  azure  of  the  zenith.  Quiet  seemed 
settling  o’er  mountain  and  river,  when,  with  a  solemn  sweet¬ 
ness,  the  vesper  bells  chimed  out  on  the  evening  air.  Even 
as  the  Moslem  kneels  at  sunset  toward  the  “  Holy  City,”  so 
punctiliously  does  the  devout  papist  bend  for  vesper  prayers. 
Will  you  traverse  with  me  the  crooked  streets,  and  stand  be¬ 
neath  the  belfry  whence  issued  the  holy  tones  ? 

This  ancient  edifice  was  constructed  in  1692.  It  fronted 
the  Plaza,  and  was  a  long,  narrow  building,  flanked,  as  it 
were,  by  wings  lower  than  the  main  apartment,  and  sur¬ 
mounted  by  a  dome,  in  which  were  five  or  six  bells.  This 
dome  or  belfry  was  supported  by  pillars,  and  in  the  inter¬ 
vening  openings  were  placed  the  bells.  The  roof  was  flat, 
and  the  dark  green  and  gray  moss  clung  along  the  sides. 
The  interior  presented  a  singular  combination  of  art  and 
rudeness  ;  the  seats  were  of  unpainted  pine,  and  the  cement 
floor  between  was  worn  irregularly  by  the  knees  of  devout 
attendants.  The  railing  of  the  altar  was  of  carved  ma¬ 
hogany,  rich  and  beautiful.  Over  this  division  of  the  long 
room  hung  a  silken  curtain,  concealing  three  niches, 
which  contained  an  image  of  the  “  Virgin,”  the  “  Child,” 
and  in  the  center  one,  a  tall  gilt  cross.  Heavy  silver  candle¬ 
sticks  were  placed  in  front  of  each  niche,  and  a  dozen 
candles  were  now  burning  dimly.  A  variety  of  relics,  too 
numerous  to  mention,  were  scattered  on  the  altar,  and  in 
addition,  several  silver  goblets,  and  a  massive  bowl  for  hold¬ 
ing  “  holy  water.”  A  few  tin  sconces,  placed  against  the 
wall,  were  the  only  provision  for  lighting  that  dark,  gloomy 
church,  and  dreary  enough  it  looked  in  the  twilight  hour. 
About  a  dozen  devotees  were  present,  all  kneeling  on  the 
damp,  hard  floor.  The  silk  curtain  which  concealed  the 
altar  was  drawn  aside,  with  due  solemnity,  by  two  boys 
habited  in  red  flannel  petticoats,  over  which  hung  a  loose 
white  slip.  The  officiating  priest  was  seen  kneeling  before 


l6  IN  HA :  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 

the  altar,  with  his  lips  pressed  to  the  foot  of  the  cross.  He 
retained  his  position  for  several  moments,  then  rising,  con¬ 
ducted  the  ceremonies  in  a  calm,  imposing  manner.  When 
these  were  concluded,  and  all  had  departed  save  the  two 
boys,  who  still  knelt  before  the  Virgin,  he  beckoned  them 
to  him,  and  speaking  a  few  words  in  Spanish,  ended  by 
pointing  to  the  door  and  uttering,  emphatically,  “  Go.” 
Crossing  themselves  as  they  passed  the  images,  they  dis¬ 
appeared  through  a  side  door,  and  the  priest  was  left  alone. 


CHAPTER  V. 

*  *  *  “  He  was  a  man 

Who  stole  the  livery  of  the  court  of  heaven 
To  serve  the  devil  in  ;  in  Virtue’s  guise, 

Devoured  the  widow’s  house  and  orphan’s  bread  ; 

In  holy  phrase,  transacted  villanies 

That  common  sinners  durst  not  meddle  with.” 

Pollok. 

In  years,  he  could  not  have  exceeded  twenty-five,  yet  the 
countenance  was  that  of  one  well  versed  in  intrigue.  The 
cast  was  Italian — the  crisp  black  hair,  swarthy  complexion, 
and  never-to-be-mistaken  eyes.  A  large  amount  of  Jesuit 
determination  was  expressed  in  his  iris,  blended  with  cun¬ 
ning,  malignity,  and  fierceness.  The  features  were  prominent 
particularly  the  nose ;  the  lips  finely  cut,  but  thin ;  the 
teeth  beautiful  and  regular.  In  stature  he  was  low,  and 
habited  in  the  dress  of  his  order,  a  long  black  coat  or  gown, 
buttoned  to  the  throat,  and  reaching  nearly  to  the  feet. 

Glancing  at  his  watch  as  the  sound  of  the  last  step  died 
away,  he  paced  round  and  round  the  altar,  neglecting  now 
the  many  genuflections,  bows,  and  crossings  with  which  he 
had  honored  the  images  in  the  presence  of  his  flock.  His 
brows  were  knit,  as  if  in  deep  thought,  and  doubtless  he 
revolved  the  result  of  some  deep-laid  plan,  wrhen  the  door 
vras  hurriedly  opened,  and  a  man,  bowing  low  before  the 
images,  approached  him.  The  dress  of  the  stranger  de¬ 
clared  him  ^  ranchero  :  he  wore  no  jacket,  but  his  panta- 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO .  17 

loons  were  of  buckskin,  and  his  broad  sombrero  was  tucked 
beneath  his  arm. 

“  Benedicit,  Juan  !  ” 

•'  Bueno  noche,  Padre.” 

“  What  tidings  do  you  bring  me  ?  ”  said  Father  Mazzolin. 

The  Mexican  handed  him  a  letter,  and  then,  as  if  much 
fatigued,  leaned  heavily  against  the  wall,  and  wiped  his  brow 
with  a  large  blue  cotton  handkerchief.  As  the  priest  turned 
away  and  perused  his  letter,  a  smile  of  triumphant  joy  irra¬ 
diated  his  face,  and  a  momentary  flush  tinged  his  dark  cheek. 
Again  he  read  it,  then  thrusting  it  into  his  bosom,  addressed 
the  bearer : 

“  May  the  blessing  of  the  church  rest  upon  you,  who  have 
so  faithfully  served  your  Padre  ;  ”  and  he  extended  his  hand. 
Warmly  it  was  grasped  by  Juan,  with  a  look  of  grateful 
surprise. 

“  Este  bueno  ?  ”  inquired  Juan. 

“  Si  mui  bueno.  Juan,  do  you  read  American  writing?  ” 

“  Chiquito,”  was  answered,  with  a  slight  shrug. 

“  What  is  the  news  in  the  el-grand  Ciudad  ?  ” 

“  They  have  a  strong  ox  to  pull  the  ropes,  now  Santa 
Anna  is  at  the  head.  Bravura  !  ”  and  the  ranchero  tossed 
his  hat,  regardless  of  the  place. 

It  was,  however,  no  part  of  Mazzolin’s  policy  to  allow 
him  for  one  moment  to  forget  the  reverence  due  the  marble 
images  that  looked  so  calmly  down  from  their  niches,  and 
with  a  stern  glance  he  pointed  to  them,  crossing  himself  as 
he  did  so.  Juan  went  down  on  his  knees,  and  with  an 
“  Ave  Maria,”  and  a  Mexican  dollar  (which  he  laid  on  the 
altar),  quieted  his  conscience. 

“  Senor  Austin  is  in  the  Calaboose,”  he  said,  after  a 
pause. 

Mazzolin  started,  and  looked  keenly  at  him,  as  if  striving 
to  read  his  inmost  thoughts. 

“You  must  be  mistaken.  Juan;  there  is  no  mention  of  it 
in  my  letter  ?  ”  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  one  fearing  to  believe 
good  news. 

“  Not  at  all,  Padre.  We  started  together — there  were 
fifteen  of  us — and  after  we  had  come  a  long  way,  so  far  as 
Saltillo,  some  of  Santa  Anna’s  cavaleros  overtook  us,  and 
carried  Senor  Americanno  back  with  them,  and  said  they 

2 


i8 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


had  orders  to  do  it, -for  he  was  no  friend  to  our  nation.  I 
know,  for  I  heard  for  myself.  ” 

“  Do  you  know  the  particular  reason  of  his  arrest  ? ” 

Juan  shook  his  head,  and  replied,  “  That  the  officers  did 
not  say.” 

“  Did  you  mention  to  any  one  your  having  a  letter  for 
me  ?  ” 

“  No,  Padre ;  I  tell  no  man  what  does  not  concern  him.” 

“  A  wise  plan,  Juan,  I  would  advise  you  always  to  follow; 
and  be  very  careful  that  you  say  nothing  to  any  one  about 
my  letter:  I  particularly  desire  it.” 

“  Intiendo,”  said  Juan,  turning  toward  the  door.  “I  go 
to  my  ranche  to-morrow,  but  come  back  before  many  sun¬ 
sets,  and  if  you  want  me  again,  Padre,  you  know  where  to 
find  me.” 

“  The  blessing  of  the  Holy  Virgin  rest  upon  you,  my 
son,  and  reward  you  for  your  services  in  behalf  of  the 
church,” 

“  Adios  !  ”  And  they  parted. 

Father  Mazzolin  drew  forth  the  letter,  and  read  it  atten¬ 
tively  for  the  third  time,  then  held  it  over  one  of  the  twelve 
candles,  and  deliberately  burnt  it,  muttering  the  while, 
“  Ashes  tell  no  tales.” 

Extinguishing  the  candles  and  locking  the  door  of  the 
church,  he  said  to  himself  : 

“  All  is  as  I  foresaw  ;  a  breach  is  made  which  can  only  be 
closed  by  the  bodies  of  hundreds  of  these  cursed  heretics ; 
and  Santa  Anna  is  bloodthirsty  enough  to  drain  the  last 
drop.  Alphonso  Mazzolin,  canst  thou  not  carve  thy  fortune 
in  the  coming  storm?  Yea,  and  I  will.  I  am  no  unworthy 
follower  of  Loyola,  of  Gavier,  and  of  Bobadillo.  Patience ! 
a  Cardinal’s  cap  shall  crown  my  labors  ;  ”  and  with  a  chuck¬ 
ling  laugh  he  entered  the  narrow  street  which  led  to  his 
dwelling. 

“  There  is  but  one  obstacle  here,”  he  continued  ;  “  that 
Protestant  girl’s  work  is  hard  to  undo,”  and  his  step  be¬ 
came  quicker.  “  But  for  her,  I  should  have  been  confessor 
to  the  whole  family,  and  will  be  yet,  despite  her  warning 
efforts,  though  I  had  rather  deal  with  any  three  men.  She 
is  as  untiring  as  myself.”  He  reached  his  door,  and  en¬ 
tered. 


JVEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 


19 


CHAPTER  VI. 

u  And  ruder  words  will  soon  rush  in 
To  spread  the  breach  that  words  begin ; 

And  eyes  forget  the  gentle  ray 
They  wore  in  courtship’s  smiling  day  ; 

And  voices  lose  the  tone  that  shed 
A  tenderness  round  all  they  said.” 

Moore. 

Inez  de  Garcia  was  an  only  child,  and  in  San  Antonio 
considered  quite  an  heiress.  Her  wealth  consisted  in  broad 
lands,  large  flocks,  and  numerous  herds,  and  these  valuable 
possessions,  combined  with  her  beautiful  face,  rendered  her 
the  object  of  considerable  attention.  Inez  was  endowed 
with  quick  perceptions,  and  a  most  indomitable  will,  which 
she  never  surrendered,  except  to  accomplish  some  latent 
design ;  and  none  who  looked  into  her  beautiful  eyes  could 
suppose  that  beauty  predominated  over  intellect.  She  was 
subtile,  and  consciousness  of  her  powers  was  seen  in  the 
haughty  glance  and  contemptuous  smile.  Her  hand  had 
been  promised  from  infancy  to  her  orphan  cousin,  Manuel 
Nevarro,  whose  possessions  were  nearly  as  extensive  as  her 
own.  Inez  looked  with  indifference  on  her  handsome  cousin, 
but  never  objected  till  within  a  few  weeks  of  her  seven¬ 
teenth  birthday  (the  period  appointed  for  her  marriage), 
when  she  urged  her  father  to  break  the  engagement.  This 
he  positively  refused  to  do,  but  promising,  at  Father  Maz- 
zolin’s  suggestion,  that  she  should  have  a  few  more  months 
of  freedom,  she  apparently  acquiesced.  Among  the  peculiar 
customs  of  Mexicans,  was  a  singular  method  of  celebrating 

St.  - ’s  day.  Instead  of  repairing  to  their  church  and 

engaging  in  some  rational  service,  they  mounted  their  half 
wild  ponies,  and  rode  furiously  up  and  down  the  streets  till 
their  jaded  steeds  refused  to  stir  another  step,  when  they 
were  graciously  allowed  to  finish  the  day  on  the  common. 
The  celebration  of  the  festival  was  not  confined  to  the 
masculine  "portion  of  the  community;  silver-haired  Senoras 


20 


INEZ;  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


mingled  in  the  cavalcade  and  many  a  bright-eyed  Senorita 

looked  forward  to  St.  - ’s  day  with  feelings  nearly  akin 

to  those  with  which  a  New  York  belle  regards  the  most 
fashionable  ball  of  the  season. 

On  the  evening  preceding  the  day  of  that  canonized 
lady,  Manuel  entered  the  room  where  Inez  sat,  her  needle 
work  on  the  floor  at  some  distance,  as  though  flung  impa¬ 
tiently  from  her,  her  head  resting  on  one  hand,  while  the 
other  held  a  gentleman’s  glove.  Light  as  was  his  step,  she 
detected  it  and  thrusting  the  glove  into  her  bosom,  turned 
her  fine  face  full  upon  him. 

“  What  in  the  name  of  wonder  brings  you  here  this  time 
of  day,  Manuel  ?  I  thought  every  one  but  myself  was  taking 
a  siesta  this  warm  evening.” 

“ I  have  been  trying  a  new  horse,  Inez,  and  came  to  know 
at  what  hour  you  would  ride  to-morrow.”  He  stood  fanning 
himself  with  his  broad  sombrero  as  he  spoke. 

“  Excuse  me,  Senor,  I  do  not  intend  to  ride  at  all.” 

“  You  never  refused  before,  Inez;  what  is  the  meaning  of 
this?”  and  his  Spanish  brow  darkened  ominously. 

“  That  I  do  not  feel  inclined  to  do  so,  is  sufficient  reason.” 

“And  why  don’t  you  choose  to  ride,  pray?  You  have 
done  it  all  your  life.” 

“I’ll  be  cross-questioned  by  no  one!”  replied  Inez, 
springing  to  her  feet,  with  flashing  eyes,  and  passionately 
clinching  her  small,  jeweled  hand. 

Manuel  was  of  a  fiery  temperament,  and  one  of  the  many 
who  never  pause  to  weigh  the  effect  of  their  words  or  actions. 
Seizing  her  arm  in  no  gentle  manner,  he  angrily  exclaimed, 

“A  few  more  weeks,  and  I’ll  see  whether  you  indulge 
every  whim,  and  play  the  queen  so  royally  !  ” 

Inez  disengaged  her  arm,  every  feature  quivering  with 
scorn. 

“To  whom  do  you  speak,  Senor  Nevarro?  You  have 
certainly  mistaken  me  for  one  of  the  miserable  peons  over 
whom  you  claim  jurisdiction.  Allow  me  to  undeceive  you  ! 
I  am  Inez  de  Garcia,  to  whom  you  shall  never  dictate,  lor  I 
solemnly  declare,  that  from  this  day  the  link  which  has 
bound  us  from  childhood  is  at  an  end.  Mine  be  the  hand  to 
sever  it.  From  this  hour  we  meet  only  as  cousins  !  Go 
seek  a  more  congenial  bride  !  ” 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OP  THE  ALAMO. 


“  Hold,  Inez !  are  you  mad  ?  ” 

“  No,  Manuel,  but  candid ;  for  eight  years  I  have  known 
that  I  was  destined  to  be  your  wife,  but  I  never  loved  you, 
Manuel.  I  do  not,  and  never  can,  otherwise  than  as  a 
cousin.” 

In  a  tone  of  ill-suppressed  range,  Nevarro  retorted : 

“  My  uncle’s  authority  shall  compel  you  to  fulfil  the 
engagement !  You  shall  not  thus  escape  me  !  ” 

“  As  you  please,  Sehor.  Yet  let  me  tell  you,  compulsion 
will. not  answer.  The  combined  efforts  of  San  Antonio  will 
not  avail — they  may  crush,  but  cannot  conquer  me.”  She 
bowed  low,  and  left  the  room. 

Every  feature  inflamed  with  wrath,  Nevarro  snatched  his 
hat,  and  hurried  down  the  street.  He  had  not  proceeded 
far,  when  a  hand  was  laid  upon  his  arm,  and  turning,  with 
somewhat  pugnacious  intentions,  encountered  Father  Maz- 
zolin’s  piercing  black  eyes. 

“  Bueno  tarde,  Padre.” 

The  black  eyes  rested  on  Nevarro  with  an  expression  which 
seemed  to  demand  an  explanation  of  his  choler.  Manuel 
moved  uneasily  1  the  hot  blood  glowed  in  his  swarthy  cheek, 
and  swelled  like  cords  on  the  darkened  brow. 

“  Did  you  wish  to  speak  with  me,  Padre  ?  ” 

“  Even  so,  my  son.  Thou  art  troubled,  come  unto  one 
who  can  give  thee  comfort.” 

They  were  standing  before  the  door  of  the  harkell  occu¬ 
pied  by  the  priest :  he  opened  it  and  drew  Manuel  in. 

An  hour  later  they  emerged  from  the  house.  All  trace  of 
anger  was  removed  from  Nevarro’s  brow,  and  Father  Maz- 
zolin’s  countenance  wore  the  impenetrable  cast  he  ever 
assumed  in  public.  It  was  his  business  expression,  the 
mask  behind  which  he  secretly  drew  the  strings,  and  lured 
his  dupes  into  believing  him  a  disinterested  and  self-denying 
pastor,  whose  only  aim  in  life  was  to  promote  the  welfare 
and  happiness  of  his  flock. 

When  Don  Garcia  sat  that  night,  a  la  Turk ,  on  a  buffalo- 
robe  before  his  door,  puffing  his  cigarrita,  and  keeping  time 
to  the  violin,  which  sent  forth  its  merry  tones  at  a  neighbor¬ 
ing  fandango,  Inez  drew  near,  and  related  the  result  of  her 
interview  with  Manuel,  concluding  by  declaring  her  intention 


22 


WEZ:  £  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 


to  abide  by  her  decision,  and  consult  her  own  wishes  in  the 
selection  of  a  husband. 

His  astonishment  was  great.  First  he  tried  reasoning, 
but  she  refuted  every  argument  advanced  with  the  adroit¬ 
ness  of  an  Abelard :  the  small  stock  of  patience  with  which 
“  Dame  Nature  ”  had  endowed  the  Don  gave  way,  and  at 
last,  stamping  with  rage,  he  swore  she  should  comply,  or  end 
her  life  in  a  gloomy  cell  of  San  Jose. 

Inez  laughed  contemptuously.  She  felt  the  whirlwind  she 
had  raised  gathering  about  her,  yet  sought  not  to  allay  it : 
she  knew  it  was  the  precursor  of  a  fierce  struggle,  yet  quailed 
not.  Like  the  heroine  of  Saragossa,  or  the  martyr  of  Rouen, 
she  knew  not  fear  ;  and  her  restless  nature  rather  joyed  in 
the  strife. 

A  low  growl  from  the  dog  who  shared  the  robe,  announced 
an  intruder,  and  the  next  moment  the  Padre  joined  them. 
He  was  joyfully  hailed  by  De  Garcia  as  an  ally  ;  but  a  dark 
look  of  hatred  gleamed  from  Inez’s  eyes,  as  they  rested  on 
his  form :  it  vanished  instantly,  and  she  welcomed  him  with 
a  smile.  She  was  cognizant  of  his  interview  with  Nevarro, 
for  her  window  overlooked  the  street  in  which  it  took  place. 
She  knew,  too,  his  powers  of  intrigue  ;  that  they  were  enlisted 
against  her  ;  and  a  glance  sufficed  to  show  the  path  to  be 
pursued.  Long  ago  her  penetrating  eye  had  probed  the 
mask  of  dissimulation  which  concealed,  like  the  “  silver  veil  ” 
of  Mokanna,  a  great  deformity  :  how  much  greater  because, 
alas  !  a  moral  one. 

Father  Mazzolin  inquired,  with  apparent  interest,  the 
cause  of  contention.  The  Don  gave  a  detailed  account,  and 
wound  up  by  applying  to  him  for  support,  in  favor  of  Nevarro. 
The  look  of  sorrowful  astonishment  with  which  he  listened, 
compelled  Inez  to  fix  her  large  Spanish  eyes  on  the  ground, 
lest  he  should  perceive  the  smile  which  lurked  in  their 
corners,  and  half  Splayed  round  her  lip. 

He  rebuked  her  gently,  and  spoke  briefly  of  the  evils 
which  would  result,  if  she  persisted  in  her  wilful  and  un¬ 
grateful  course.  Inez  listened  with  a  meekness  which  sur¬ 
prised  both  parent  and  Padre ;  and  when  the  latter  rose  to 
go,  approached,  and,  in  a  low  tone,  requested  him  to  meet 
her,  that  day  week,  in  the  confessional. 

Woman’s  heart  is  everywhere  the  same,  and  in  the  soli* 


SAAA:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


23 


tude  of  her  own  apartment,  Inez’s  softer  feelings  found  full 
vent.  She  sat  with  her  face  in  her  hands,  one  long  deep 
sigh,  which  struggled  up,  telling  of  the  secret  pain  that  was 
withering  her  joys  and  clouding  her  future.  Suddenly  she 
started  up,  and  passionately  exclaimed* 

“  It  is  hard  that  his  love  should  be  wasted  on  one  whose 
heart  is  as  cold  and  stony  as  this  wall ;  ”  and  she  struck  it 
impatiently.  Then  drawing  forth  the  glove,  which  on 
Manuel’s  entrance  had  been  so  hastily  secreted,  she  pressed 
it  repeatedly  to  her  lips,  returned  it  to  its  hiding-place,  and 
sought  her  couch. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

“  What  cause  have  we  to  build  on  length  of  life  : 

Temptations  seize  when  fear  is  laid  asleep  ; 

And  ill-foreboded  is  our  strongest  guard.” 

Young. 

St. - ’s  dawn  was  welcomed  by  joyous  peals  from  the 

church-bells,  and  the  occasional  firing  of  a  few  muskets,  by 
way  of  accompaniment.  The  sun  rose  with  a  brilliance  which 
wrould  have  awakened  deep  tones  in  Memnon’s  statue,  and 
gilded  mountain  and  valley.  Beautiful  beyond  description 
the  city  looked  in  his  golden  light,  and 

“All  nature  seemed  rejoicing.” 

Half  hid  by  a  majestic  live-oak  which  shaded  the  front, 
and  within  a  few  yards  of  the  river,  stood  a  small  white 
house.  It  was  built  of  adoles,  and  contained  only  three 
rooms.  Instead  of  reaching  thesq,  by  a  broad  flight,  one 
step  from  the  threshold  placed  you  on  the  ground.  The 
floor  was  uncovered,  and,  as  usual,  of  cement.  In  one  cor¬ 
ner  of  the  front  apartment  stood  a  sideboard,  covered  vrith 
glass  of  various  kinds,  and  a  few  handsome  pieces  of  plate. 
Its  vis-a-vis  was  a  range  of  shelves,  filled  with  books  ;  and 
on  the  plain  deal  mantelpiece  stood  a  pair  of  neat  China 
vases,  decked  with  brilliant  prairie  flowers.  Before  the  open 
window  was  placed  the  table,  arranged  for  the  morning  meaL 


24 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


How  pure  the  cloth  looked,  how  clear  the  glass  ;  and  then 
the  bouquet  of  fragrant  roses  which  adorned  the  center,  how 
homelike,  fresh,  and  beautiful  it  seemed  !  An  air  of  com¬ 
fort — American,  southern  comfort — pervaded  the  whole. 
The  breakfast  was  brought  in  by  a  middle-aged  negress, 
whose  tidy  appearance,  and  honest,  happy,  smiling  face  pre¬ 
sented  the  best  refutation  of  the  gross  slanders  of  our 
northern  brethren.  I  would  that  her  daguerreotype,  as  she 
stood  arranging  the  dishes,  could  be  contrasted  with  those 
of  the  miserable,  half-starved  seamstresses  of  Boston  and 
New  York,  who  toil  from  dawn  till  dark,  with  aching  head 
and  throbbing  heart,  over  some  weary  article,  for  which  they 
receive  the  mighty  recompense  of  a  shilling. 

When  she  had  arranged  every  dish  with  great  exactness, 
a  small  bell  was  rung  ;  and,  waiter  in  hand,  she  stood  ready 
to  attend  the  family. 

A  bright,  young  face  appeared  at  the  open  window. 

“  I  hope,  Aunt  Fanny,  you  have  a  nice  breakfast.  You 
have  no  idea  what  an  appetite  my  walk  has  given  me.” 

“  Now,  Miss  Mary,  ain’t  my  cooking  always  nice  ?  ” 

“  Indeed,  it  is.  Your  coffee  would  not  disgrace  a  pasha’s 
table  ;  and  your  rolls  are 

‘  The  whitest,  the  lightest,  that  ever  were  seen.’  ” 

She  disappeared  from  the  window,  and  entered  the  room 
just  as  Mr.  Hamilton  came  in,  followed  by  Florence. 

“  My  dear  uncle,  have  you  forgotten  the  old  adage  of 
*  early  to  bed,  and  early  to  rise  ?  ’  ” 

“  I  am  not  sure  that  I  ever  learned  it,  Mary  ;  ”  he  dryly 
replied,  seating  himself  at  the  table. 

“  One  would  suppose  you  had  taken  a  draught  from  the 
‘  Elixir  of  Life  ;  ’  ”  said  Florence,  glancing  affectionately  at 
her  beaming  face. 

“  I  have  discovered  the  fountain  of  perpetual  youth,  so 
vainly  sought  in  South  America  !  ” 

“  Indeed  !  Is  it  located  in  this  vicinity  ?  ” 

“  Yes;  and  if  you  will  rise  to-morrow  with  Aurora,  when 
4  she  sprinkles  with  rosy  light  the  dewy  lawn,’  I  will  promise 
to  conduct  you  to  it.” 

“  Thank  you ;  but,  Mary,  what  induced  you  to  ramble  so 
early  ?  ” 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 


25 


I  have  been  nearly  two  miles  for  some  roots  Mrs. 
Carlton  expressed  a  wish  for.  See,  Florry,  how  I  have  dyed 
my  hands  pulling  them  up !  ” 

“  Were  you  alone,  Mary  ? ”  asked  Mr.  Hamilton. 

“  I  was,  most  of  the  time.  As  I  came  back,  Dr.  Bryant 
overtook  me.  He  spent  the  night  at  San  Jose  mission,  with 
a  sick  Mexican,  and  was  returning.  But  where  is  Aunt 
Lizzy  ?  ”  continued  Mary,  with  an  inquiring  glace  round  the 
room. 

“  She  went  to  mass  this  morning,”  replied  her  cousin. 

“  Oh,  yes  1  It  is  St.  - ’s  day.  I  heard  the  bells  at 

daybreak.” 

“  It  is  a  savage,  heathenish  custom  they  have  adopted 
here,  of  tearing  up  and  down  the  streets  from  morning  till 
night.  I  wish,  by  Jove  1  they  would  ride  over  their  cant¬ 
ing  Padre  !  I  think  he  would  find  some  other  mode  of  cel¬ 
ebrating  the  festival !  ” 

“  He  would  lay  claim  to  saintship  on  the  strength  of  it,” 
replied  Mary. 

“You  had  better  keep  out  of  the  street  to-day,  girls,” 
rejoined  Mr.  Hamilton,  pushing  his  cup  away,  and  rising 
from  the  table. 

At  this  moment  Aunt  Lizzy  entered  ;  and  after  the  morn¬ 
ing  salutation,  turned  toward  the  door. 

“You  are  later  than  usual  this  morning,  aunt.  Do  sit 
down  and  eat  your  breakfast,  or  it  will  be  so  cold  you  can¬ 
not  touch  it,”  said  Mary. 

“  No  really  devout  Catholic  tastes  food  on  this  holy  day,” 
she  answered,  motioning  it  from  her. 

“  It  must  be  quite  a  penance  to  abstain,  after  your  long 
walk,”  said  Mr.  Plamilton  with  a  smile. 

“  Father  Mazzolin  said,  this  morning,  that  all  who  kept  this 
holy  day  would  add  a  bright  jewel  to  their  crown,  and  ob¬ 
tain  the  eternal  intercession  of  the  blessed  saint ;  ”  and  she 
left  the  room. 

“  That  falsehood  adds  another  stone  to  the  many  that 
will  sink  him  in  the  lake  of  perdition,  if  there  be  one  !  ” 
muttered  Mr.  Hamilton,  as  he  departed  for  the  counting- 
room.  The  last  few  sentences  had  fallen  unheeded  on 
Florence’s  ear,  for  she  sat  looking  out  the  window,  her 
thoughts  evidently  far  away.  But  every  trace  of  merriment 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


26 

vanished  from  Mary’s  face,  and  instead  of  her  bright  smile, 
a  look  of  painful  anxiety  settled  there.  A  long  silence  en« 
sued ;  Mary  stood  by  the  table,  wiping  the  cups  as  Aunt 
Fanny  rinsed  them,  and  occasionally  glancing  at  her  cousin. 
At  length  she  said, 

“  Florry,  will  you  walk  over  to  Mrs.  Carlton’s  with  me  ? 
I  promised  to  go,  and  the  walk  will  do  you  good,  for  indeed 
your  cheeks  are  paler  than  I  like  to  see  them.” 

“  Certainly,  Mary,  but  do  you  remember  what  father  said 
about  our  remaining  at  home,  to-day  ?  ” 

“  There  is  no  danger,  Florry,  if  we  only  look  about  us, 
and  I  realiy  must  go.” 

“  Well  then,  let  us  start  at  once.” 

In  a  few  moments  they  set  out,  equipped  in  large  straw  hats, 
and  equally  large  gloves  ;  in  addition,  Mary  carried  in  her 
hand  a  basket,  filled  with  herbs  and  flowers. 

“If  we  walk  briskly,  we  shall  get  there  before  any  of  the 
riders  set  forth.  Ah !  I  am  mistaken,  there  they  come. 
Florry,  don’t  go  so  near  the  street :  that  horseman  in  blue, 
looks  as  though  he  were  riding  on  ice — see  how  his  horse 
slides  about !  ” 

A  party  of  twenty  or  thirty  thundered  past,  and  the  girls 
quickened  their  pace.  A  few  minutes’  walk  brought  them 
to  Mrs.  Carlton’s  door,  which  closed  after  them. 

That  lady  was  reading,  as  they  entered,  but  threw  aside 
her  book,  and  advanced  joyously  to  greet  them.  She  kissed 
Mary  affectionately,  and  cordially  shook  Florence’s  hand. 

“  I  am  glad  you  came,  Mary.  I  feared  you  would  not, 
and  really  I  want  you  very  much.” 

“  What  can  I  do,  Mrs.  Carlton  ?  ” 

“  You  can  take  off  your  hat  and  gloves,  and  prepare  your- 
selves  to  spend  the  day  with  me.” 

They  laughingly  complied,  protesting,  however,  that  they 
could  only  remain  a  short  time. 

“  Mary,  my  poor  blind  proselyte  died  yesterday,  and  be- 
queathed  her  orphan  child  to  me :  I  feel  almost  obliged  to 
accept  the  charge,  for  her  fear  lest  it  should  fall  into  the 
Padre’s  hands  was  painful  to  behold,  and  I  promised  to  pro¬ 
tect  it  if  possible.  The  poor  little  fellow  is  nearly  destitute  of 
clothes ;  I  have  cut  some  for  him,  and  knew  you  would  assist 
me  in  making  them.” 


2? 


ifrEZ  •  ^  TALE  OF  THE  A  LA  ML 

“  With  pleasure,  dear  Mrs.  Carlton,  and  so  will  Florry ; 
fill  my  basket  with  work,  and  we  will  soon  have  him  a  suit, 
Oh  !  how  glad  I  am  that  he  has  such  kind  friends  as  your* 
self  and  husband.” 

“  The  Padre  came  last  night  to  demand  the  child,  but  we 
refused  to  give  him  up :  he  said  he  intended  clothing  and 
educating  the  boy  free  of  charge  ;  yet  I  knew  better,  for  he 
refused  to  baptize  Madame  Berara’s  orphan-niece  without 
the  customary  fee,  though  he  well  knew  she  could  ill  afford 
it,  and  was  compelled  to  sell  her  last  cow  to  make  up  the 
requisite  sum.  I  feel  assured  he  will  do  all  in  his  power  to 
entice  Erasmo  from  me  ;  but  hope,  by  constant  watchfulness, 
to  counteract  his  influence.  Oh !  Mary,  how  much  we 
need  a  Protestant  minister  here :  one  who  could  effectually 
stem  the  tide  of  superstition  and  degradation  that  now 
flows  unimpeded  through  this  community.  Oh  !  my  dear 
friend,  let  us  take  courage,  and  go  boldly  forth  in  the  cause 
of  truth,  and  strive  to  awaken  all  from  the  lethargy  into 
which  they  have  fallen — a  lethargy  for  which  their  priests 
are  alone  responsible,  for  they  administered  the  deadly 
drug.” 

“  I  feel  as  deeply  as  yourself,  dear  Mrs.  Carlton,  the  evil 
tendency  and  deplorable  consequences  of  the  institutions  by 
which  we  are  surrounded,  and  the  little  that  I  can  do  will 
be  gladly,  oh,  how  gladly !  contributed  to  the  work  of  ref¬ 
ormation  you  have  so  nobly  begun.” 

“  You  forget,  Mary,  in  your  proselyting  enthusiasm,  that 
Aunt  Lizzy  belongs  to  the  despised  sect;  surely  you  can 
not  intend,  by  attacks  on  her  religion,  to  render  her  home 
unpleasant  ?  ”  said  Florence. 

Mary’s  eyes  filled  with  tears,  as  she  glanced  reproach¬ 
fully  at  her  cousin,  and  replied, 

“  Nothing  is  further ’from  my  wishes,  Florry,  than  to  make 
her  home  other  than  happy.  Aunt  Lizzy  has  every  oppor¬ 
tunity  of  informing  herself  on  this  important  question.  Yet 
she  prefers  the  easier  method,  of  committing  her  conscience 
to  the  care  of  the  priest ;  she  has  chosen  her  path  in  life, 
and  determinately  closes  her  eyes  to  every  other.  The  state 
of  the  Mexicans  around  us  is  by  no  means  analogous.  They 
were  allowed  no  choice  :  bred  from  infancy  in  the  Romish 
faith,  they  are  totally  unacquainted  with  the  tenets  of  othe^ 


28 


/NEZ :  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


creeds.  Implicit  obedience  to  the  Padre  is  their  primary 
law,  the  grand  ruling  principle  of  life,  instilled  from  their 
birth.  To  lay  before  them  the  truths  of  our  own  ‘  pure  and 
undefiled  religion/  is  both  a  privilege  and  duty.” 

“  You  spoke  just  now,  Miss  Florence,  of  the  ‘  despised 
sect ;  ’  allow  me,  in  all  modesty,  to  say,  that  to  the  true  and 
earnest  Christian  there  is  no  such  class.  Believe  me,  when 
I  say,  that  though  deeply  commiserating  their  unhappy  con¬ 
dition,  and  resolved  to  do  all  in  my  power  to  alleviate  it, 
still  I  would  as  cheerfully  assist  the  conscientious  Papist, 
and  tender  him  the  hospitalities  of  my  home,  as  one  of  my 
own  belief.” 

“  You  have  expressed  my  feelings  exactly,  Mrs.  Carlton, 
and  there  are  times  when  I  wash  myself  a  missionary,  that 
I  might  carry  light  to  this  benighted  race,”  exclaimed  Mary, 
enthusiastically. 

“  We  are  very  apt,  my  dear  child,  to  consider  ourselves 
equal  to  emergencies,  and  capable  of  great  actions,  when  a 
strict  examination  would  declare  that  the  minor  deeds  and 
petty  trials  which  test  the  temper  and  the  strength  too  often 
destroy  our  equanimity,  and  show  our  inability  to  cope  with 
difficulties.  Woman’s  warfare  is  with  little  things,  yet  we 
are  assured  by  the  greatest  of  all  female  wrriters,  that  ‘  trifles 
make  the  sum  of  human  things ;’  therefore,  let  us  strive 
more  and  more  earnestly  to  obtain  perfect  control  of  our¬ 
selves ;  then  shall  we  be  enabled  to  assist  others.” 

“  I  often  think,”  replied  Mary,  thoughtfully,  “  that  we 
make  great  sacrifices  with  comparative  ease,  because  wre 
feel  our  own  insufficiency,  and  rely  more  on  God  for  assist¬ 
ance  ;  while  in  lesser  troubles  w^e  are  so  confident  of  suc¬ 
cess,  that  w7e  neglect  to  ask  his  blessing,  and  consequently 
fail  in  our  unaided  attempts.” 

“  You  are  right,  Mary,  and  it  should  teach  us  to  distrust 
our  powers,  and  lead  us  to  lean  upon  6  Him,  who  is  a  very 
precious  help  in  time  of  need.’  ” 

A  long  silence  ensued,  broken  at  length  by  the  entrance 
of  Mrs.  Carlton’s  two  children,  wrho  carried  a  large  basket 
between  them.  Hastily  they  set  it  down,  on  seeing  Mary, 
and  sprung  to  her  side  :  the  little  girl  clung  around  her  neck, 
and  kissed  her  repeatedly. 

“  Maria,  you  are  too  boisterous,  my  little  girl ;  Miss  Mary 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


will  have  no  cause  to  doubt  your  affection.  Elliot,  why  do 
you  not  speak  to  Miss  Florence,  my  son  ?  ” 

Blushing  at  his  oversight,  the  boy  obeyed,  and,  joined  by 
his  sister,  stood  at  his  mother’s  side.  Maria  whispered 
something  in  his  ear,  but  he  only  shook  his  head  and  replied, 

“  Not  now,  sister,  let  us  wait.” 

She  hesitated  a  moment,  then  laid  her  little  hand  on  Mrs. 
Carlton’s  shoulder. 

“  Mother,  I  know  you  said  it  was  rude  to  whisper  in  com¬ 
pany,  but  I  want  to  tell  you  something  very  much.” 

'Mrs.  Carlton  smiled. 

“  I  am  sure  the  young  ladies  will  excuse  you,  my  daugh¬ 
ter,  if  it  is  important.”  She  bent  her  head,  and  a  pro¬ 
longed  whispering  followed.  A  flush  rose  to  the  mother’s 
cheek  and  a  tear  to  her  eyes,  as  she  clasped  her  to  her 
heart,  and  said, 

“  I  wish  you,  my  children,  to  speak  out,  and  tell  all  you 
know  of  this  affair.” 

Elliot  was  spokesman. 

“  We  went  into  the  garden  as  you  desired  us,  mother,  and 
Erasmo  and  I  picked  the  peas,  while  sister  held  the  basket ; 
presently  we  heard  a  noise  in  the  brush  fence  like  some¬ 
thing  coming  through,  and  sister  got  frightened  (here  he 
laughed),  and  wanted  to  run  to  the  house,  but  we  told  her  it 
was  only  a  sheep  or  dog  outside ;  but  it  turned  out  to  be 
the  Padre,  and  he  came  and  helped  us  to  pick.  Mother,  he 
told  us  such  pretty  stories ;  I  can’t  think  of  the  names ; 
they  must  have  been  Dutch,  they  were  so  long  and  hard. 
But  I  remember  one  of  the  tales  ;  he  said  there  was  once  a 
good  man  who  lived  in  Asia,  and  one  day  he  lost  his  crucifix ; 
he  looked  everywhere  for  it,  but  could  not  find  it ;  and  a 
long  time  afterward,  he  happened  to  be  walking  by  the  sea¬ 
shore  and  looked  out  on  the  water,  and  oh,  what  do  you 
think  1  He  saw  his  crucifix  moving  on  the  water,  and  a 
great  crab  paddled  out  to  land  and  laid  his  crucifix  down 
before  him,  and  then  paddled  right  back  into  the  sea  again. 
Now  wasn’t  that  funny.  I  can’t  think  of  the  good  man’s 
name,  Saint — Somebody — Saint — Saint — ” 

“  Brother,  I  reckon  it  was  Saint  Crab !  ” 

“  No,  no  !  It  was  the  crab  that  found  the  crueifix,  and  I 
think  he  was  smarter  than  the  saint.” 


3° 


uNEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO * 


44  Now,  Florry,  should  I  repeat  this  legend  to  Aunt  Lizzy, 
it  would  be  impossible  to  convince  her  that  it  proceeded 
from  the  Padre’s  lips.  Yet  even  prelates  of  Rome  scruple 
not  to  narrate  as  miracles  tales  equally  absurd,  where  their 
auditory  is  sufficiently  ignorant  to  credit  them.  Pardon 
my  interruption,  Elliot,  and  finish  your  story,”  continued 
Mary. 

44  Mother,  the  Padre  talked  to  Erasmo  in  Spanish.  I 
could  not  understand  all  he  said,  but  it  was  about  coming 
to  live  with  him,  and  going  to  Mexico,  to  see  the  sights 
there.  When  he  came  to  the  rows  you  left  for  seed,  I  told 
him  we  must  come  to  the  house,  and  asked  him  to  come 
in ;  but  he  would  not,  and  offered  us  all  some  money,  and 
said  we  must  not  tell  a  soul  we  had  seen  him,  for  he  hap* 
pened  to  see  us  through  the  fence,  and  just  came  in  to 
speak  to  us,  and  you  and  father  might  think  he  ought  not  to 
come  into  our  garden.  But  oh,  mother,  would  you  believe 
it !  he  told  Erasmo,  as  he  went  off,  that  he  must  ask  you  to 
let  him  go  to  bathe  to-morrow  ;  and  instead  of  going  to  the 
river,  he  must  come  to  the  church :  he  wanted  to  give  him 
something.  He  told  him  in  Spanish,  but  I  understood  what 
he  said.  Now,  wasn’t  that  teaching  him  to  tell  a  lie?  and 
he  a  Padre  too  !  Mother,  don’t  you  think  he  ought  to  be 
ashamed  ?  ” 

44  Elliot,  if  you  would  gladden  the  hearts  of  your  father 
and  mother,  be  ever  truthful.  Remember  the  story  of 
4  Pedro  and  Francisco  ’  you  read  not  long  ago,  and  put  dis¬ 
honesty  and  dissimulation  far  from  you  :  4  honesty  is  the 
best  policy,’  and  if  you  adhere  to  it  through  life,  it  will 
prove  of  4  far  more  worth  than  gold.’  Be  sure  you  keep 
nothing  from  me,  particularly  what  the  Padre  may  say.” 

44  Shall  we  take  the  peas  out  under  the  hackberry  and 
shell  them,”  said  Maria. 

44  Yes,  my  dear,  but  first  tell  me  where  Erasmo  is.” 

44  Sitting  on  the  steps,  mother.  I  know  he  will  help  us  to 
shell  them,  for  he  said  it  was  mere  fun,  picking  peas.” 

44  Say  nothing  to  him  of  the  Padre  or  his  conversation, 
but  interest  him  about  other  things.” 

They  left  the  room  swinging  the  basket  between  them. 
Mrs.  Carlton’s  eyes  filled  as  she  looked  after  her  children, 
“  A  mother’s  care  can  do  a  great  deal,  yet  how  little  did  I 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO .  31 

Imagine  that  temptation  would  assail  them  at  such  a  time, 
and  in  such  a  garb.” 

“  Oh,  guard  them  carefully  ;  for,  surrounded  by  these  in¬ 
fluences,  it  will  be  difficult  to  prevent  contamination,”  said 
Mary,  earnestly. 

Just  then  a  long,  loud  shout  from  the  street  attracted 
their  attention,  and  hastening  to  the  door,  they  perceived  a 
crowd  gathered  on  the  Plaza.  In  the  center  was  a  body  of 
Mexican  cavalry,  headed  by  their  commanding  officer,  who, 
hat  in  hand,  was  haranguing  them.  The  ladies  looked  at 
each  other  in  dismay. 

“  To  what  does  this  tend  ?  ”  asked  Mary,  anxiously. 

“  My  husband  told  me  several  days  since  that  Austin  was 
imprisoned  in  Mexico,  and  said  he  feared  difficulties  would 
ensue,  but  knew  not  the  cause  of  his  confinement.” 

“  There  is  Dr.  Bryant  coming  toward  us  ;  I  dare  say  he 
can  tell  us  the  meaning  of  this  commotion.” 

That  gentleman,  bowing  low  in  the  saddle,  reined  his 
Steed  as  near  the  step  as  possible. 

“  How  do  you  do,  Miss  Hamilton,  and  you,  my  dear 
sister?  I  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  Miss  Mary  in  her 
morning  rambles  ;  she  is  a  most  remarkable  young  lady. 
Assures  me  she  actually  loves  early  rising.”  His  dark  eyes 
were  fixed  laughingly  upon  her. 

“  Do  stop  your  nonsense,  Frank,  and  tell  us  the  cause  of 
that  crowd,”  said  Mrs.  Carlton,  laying  her  hand  on  his 
arm. 

“  My  dear  sister,  that  tall,  cadaverous-looking  cavalier  is 
the  brother-in-law  of  Santa  Anna,  and  no  less  a  personage 
than  General  Cos,  sent  hither  to  fortify  this  and  every  other 
susceptible  place.” 

“  Against  whom  or  what  ?  ” 

“  It  is  a  long  story,  ladies.  You  know  that  Coahuila  has 
pursued  an  oppressive  policy  toward  us  for  some  time,  and 
refused  to  hear  reason :  Austin  remonstrated  again  and 
again,  and  at  last  went  to  Mexico,  hoping  that  the  author¬ 
ities  would  allow  us  (here  he  bit  his  lip,  and  his  cheek 
flushed) — it  galls  my  spirit  to  utter  the  word — allow  us  to 
form  a  separate  State.  The  Congress  there  took  no  notice 
of  his  petition,  for,  in  truth  they  were  too  much  engaged 
just  then  about  their  own  affairs  to  heed  him,  and  he  wrote 


32 


INEZ:  a  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 


to  several  persons  in  Austin,  advising  them  at  all  hazards  to 
proceed.  Some  cowardly  wretch,  or  spy  in  disguise,  secretly 
despatched  one  of  his  letters  to  the  ministers ;  consequently, 
as  Austin  was  returning,  they  made  him  prisoner,  and  carried 
him  back  to  Mexico.  Santa  Anna  is  at  the  head  of  affairs. 
He  has  subverted  the  too  liberal  constitution  of  1824,  but 
is  opposed  by  a  few  brave  hearts,  who  scorn  the  servi¬ 
tude  in  store  for  them.  Santa  Anna  knows  full  well 
that  we  will  not  submit  to  his  crushing  yoke,  and  there¬ 
fore  sends  General  Cos  to  fortify  the  Alamo.  This  is  the 
only  definite  information  I  have  been  able  to  glean  from 
several  sources.” 

4 4  Do  you  think  there  is  probability  of  a  war  ?  ” 

44  It  will  most  inevitably  ensue,  for  total  submission  will  be 
exacted  by  Santa  Anna,  and  the  Texans  are  not  a  people  to 
comply  with  any  such  conditions.” 

44  You  think  General  Cos  is  here  to  fortify  the  Alamo  ?  ” 

44  Yes;  the  work  commences  to-morrow,  I  hear,  and  the 
fort  will  be  garrisoned  by  Spanish  troops.” 

44  How  many  has  he  with  him  ?  ”  inquired  his  sister. 

44  Only  fifty  or  sixty ;  this  is  merely  the  advanced  guard, 
the  main  body  will  probably  arrive  in  a  few  days.” 

44 1  suppose  they  are  joyously  welcomed  by  the  Mexicans 
here,  who  have  ever  regarded  with  jealous  eyes  Protestant 
settlers.” 

44  Oh,  yes,  that  shout  testified  the  hearty  welcome  they 
received.” 

At  this  moment  Mr.  Hamilton  joined  the  group. 

44  Have  you  heard  the  news  ?  ”  he  inquired. 

44  Yes,  and  sad  enough  it  is,”  said  Mary,  with  a  sigh. 

44  It  will  be  a  bloody  conflict.” 

44 1  am  afraid  so,”  replied  Dr.  Bryant. 

44  Come,  girls,  I  am  going  home,  will  you  go  now  ?  ” 

Mary  took  her  basket,  which  Mrs.  Carlton  had  filled  with 
work,  and  they  descended  the  steps. 

44 1  declare,  Miss  Irving,  I  have  a  great  desire  to  know 
what  that  basket  contains  ;  it  is  as  inseparably  your  com¬ 
panion  as  was  the  tub  of  Diogenes.  I  often  see  it  round 
a  corner  before  you  are  visible,  and  at  the  glimpse  of  it, 
invariably  sit  more  erect  in  saddle,  and  assume  my  most 
amiable  expression.” 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


33 

He  raised  himself,  and  peeped  inquiringly  over  the  edge ; 
Mary  swung  it  playfully  behind  her. 

“  I  never  gratify  idle  curiosity,  Dr.  Bryant.” 

“  Indeed,  how  very  remarkable ;  but  I  assure  you  I  know 
full  well  the  use  to  which  those  same  herbs  you  had  this 
morning  are  to  be  applied ;  you  are  amalgamating  nauseous 
drugs,  and  certain  pills,  to  be  administered  to  my  patients. 
I  am  grieved  to  think  you  would  alienate  what  few  friends  I 
have  here,  by  raising  yourself  up  as  a  competitor.  Pray, 
where  did  you  receive  your  diploma  ?  and  are  you  Thom- 
sonian,  Allopathic,  Homeopathic,  or  Hydropathic  ?  ” 

Mary  looked  at  Mrs.  Carlton  :  both  smiled. 

“  Ah  !  I  see  Ellen  is  associated  with  you.  Do  admit  me 
to  partnership ;  I  should  be  a  most  valuable  acquisition, 
take  my  word  for  it.  A  more  humble-minded,  good-hearted, 
deeply-read,  and  experienced  disciple  of  Esculapius  never 
felt  pulse,  or  administered  a  potion.” 

They  laughed  outright. 

“  Mary,  shall  we  tell  Frank  what  we  intend  those  herbs 
for  ?  ” 

“  By  no  means,  he  does  not  deserve  to  know.” 

“  Ah  !  I  see  Terence  was  right  after  all,  in  his  opinion  of 
woman’s  nature — ‘  When  you  request,  they  refuse  ;  when 
you  forbid,  they  are  sure  to  do  it.’  ” 

“  Come,  girls,  come  !  I  have  business  at  home  ;  ”  said 
Mr.  Hamilton,  and  they  set  out  homeward.  They  had 
not  proceeded  far,  when  Mary  exclaimed,  pointing  behind 
her, 

“  Oh,  uncle,  that  woman  will  be  killed  !  Can  nobody 
help  her  ?  ” 

“  She  will  certainly  be  thrown  from  her  horse  1  ” 

A  party  of  five  or  six  Mexicans  were  riding  with  their 
usual  rapidity  toward  them.  An  elderly  woman  in  the  rear 
had  evidently  lost  control  of  her  fiery  horse,  which  was 
plunging  violently.  The  other  members  of  the  company 
seemed  unable  to  render  any  assistance,  as  their  own  could 
scarcely  be  restrained.  The  unfortunate  Senora  was  almost 
paralyzed  with  fright ;  for  instead  of  checking  him  by  the 
reins,  they  had  fallen  over  his  head,  become  entangled  in 
his  feet,  and  now  grasping  the  mane,  she  was  shrieking 
fearfully 
% 


34 


INEZ :  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 


“  Oh,  can’t  we  do  something  for  her  l  ”  cried  Mary,  clasp* 
ing  her  hands. 

“  I  do  not  see  how  we  can  assist  her,”  said  Mr.  Hamilton* 

“  At  least,  let  us  try  ;  ”  and  they  hastened  to  the  spot 
where  the  infuriated  animal  was  struggling. 

44  Stand  back,  girls !  you  can  do  nothing.” 

He  made  several  ineffectual  attempts  to  catch  the  bridle, 
as  the  forefeet  rose  in  air,  and  at  last  succeeded  in  getting 
one  end.  He  bade  the  woman  let  go  the  mane,  and  slide 
off.  She  did  so,  but  some  portion  of  her  dress  was  caught 
in  the  saddle,  and  she  hung  suspended.  The  horse  feeling 
the  movement,  again  plunged,  despite  Mr.  Hamilton’s  efforts 
to  hold  him  down.  The  scene  was  distressing  indeed,  as 
she  was  raised  and  then  flung  down  again. 

Mary  saw  the  danger,  and  rushing  round  the  •  enraged 
horse,  fearlessly  pushed  off  the  piece  which  was  attached  to 
the  pommel  of  the  saddle,  and  freed  the  unfortunate  matron* 
The  horse,  feeling  relieved  of  his  burden,  gave  a  desperate 
bound,  and  rushed  off  down  the  street. 

Florence  shrieked,  and  sprung  to  her  father’s  side* 
Mary  was  bending  over  the  moaning  woman,  but  turned 
suddenly,  and  saw  her  uncle  stretched  at  Florence’s  feet. 
He  was  insensible,  and  a  stream  of  blood  oozed  from  his 
lips.  They  raised  his  head,  and  motioned  to  the  Mexicans, 
that  now  gathered  round,  for  water  ;  some  was  hastily  pro¬ 
cured,  and  then  Mary  entreated  one  of  them  to  go  for  Dr. 
Bryant :  as  she  spoke,  the  tramp  of  hoofs  caused  her  to  look 
up,  and  she  perceived  him  urging  his  horse  toward  them. 
He  flung  the  reins  to  a  man  who  stood  near,  and  bent  over 
the  prostrate  form. 

“  There  is  some  internal  injury,  I  see  no  outward  wound ; 
how  did  this  happen  ?  ” 

Florence  briefly  explained  the  manner  in  which  her 
father  received  a  kick  on  the  chest.  Happily,  they  were 
near  their  own  home,  and,  with  the  assistance  of  two  men. 
Dr.  Bryant  carefully  bore  him  in,  and  laid  him  on  a  couch 
near  the  open  window.  A  restorative  was  administered, 
and  soon  the  sufferer  opened  his  eyes.  The  flow  of  blood 
had  ceased,  but  he  lay  quite  exhausted. 

The  physician  examined  the  wounded  place,  and  assured 
Florence  there  was  no  fracture. 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 


35 

“  I  am  afraid  some  blood-vessel  is  ruptured  ?  ”  said  she, 
anxiously, 

“  It  is  only  a  small  one,  I  hope,  but  cannot  tell  certainly 
for  several  days.  He  must  be  perfectly  quiet ;  the  least 
excitement  might  prove  fatal,  by  causing  a  fresh  hem¬ 
orrhage.’ ’ 

Nearly  a  week  passed,  and  one  evening  Mary  followed 
the  physician  as  he  left  the  house  :  he  heard  her  step,  and 
turned.  His  usually  laughing  countenance  was  grave  and 
anxious ;  but  he  strove  to  seem  cheerful. 

“  Doctor,  I  wish  to  know  what  you  think  of  my  uncle’s 
case  ;  we  are  afraid  it  is  more  serious  than  you  at  first  pro¬ 
nounced  it  ?  ” 

“  It  is  better  that  you  should  know  the  worst.  I  am 
pained  to  grieve  you,  but  candor  compels  me  to  say,  that  a 
fatal  injury  has  been  inflicted.  I  hoped  for  the  best,  but  an 
examination  this  evening  confirmed  my  fears.” 

Mary  sobbed  bitterly  and  long.  Dr.  Bryant  sought  not 
to  comfort  her  by  exciting  false  hopes,  but  paced  up  and 
down  the  gravel-walk  beside  her. 

“  You  do  not  fear  a  rapid  termination  of  the  disorder  ?  ” 
she  said  at  last,  in  a  low,  trembling  tone. 

“  He  may  linger  some  days,  but  I  do  not  think  it  probable 
that  he  will.” 

“  Florry,  Florry  !  what  is  to  become  of  us  ?  ”  cried  the 
weeping  girl,  in  a  voice  of  agony.  “  Oh,  God  !  spare  him 
to  us  !  ” 

“  Do  you  think  your  cousin  comprehends  her  father’s 
danger  ? ” 

“  She  fears  the  worst,  and  requested  me  this  evening  to 
ask  your  opinion.  Oh,  how  can  I  tell  her  that  he  must 
die  !  ” 

“  Do  not  crush  all  hope  (though  I  have  none)  ;  let  her 
believe  that  he  may  recover.  She  is  not  of  a  temperament 
to  bear  prolonged  agony.  The  shock  will  be  less  painful, 
rest  assured.  Believe  me,  I  deeply  sympathize  with  you 
both.”  And  pressing  her  hand,  he  withdrew. 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

“  See  !  the  dappled  gray  coursers  of  the  morn 
Beat  up  the  light  with  their  bright  silver  hoofs, 

And  chase  it  through  the  sky !  ”~ 

Marstos. 

Inez  left  her  father’s  door  as  the  last  notes  of  the  matin 
bell  died  away  on  the  cool,  clear  morning  air.  She  held  in 
her  hand  a  silken  scarf,  which,  according  to  the  custom  of 
her  country,  was  thrown  lightly  across  the  head,  and  con¬ 
fined  at  the  chin. 

Beautiful  she  looked,  with  the  feverish  glow  on  her  cheek, 
and  her  large  Spanish  eyes,  restless  and  piercing,  flashing 
out  at  times  the  thoughts  of  her  inmost  soul.  She  threw  the 
mantilla  round  her  head,  and  turned  toward  the  church. 
The  step  was  firm  yet  hasty.  She  seemed  endeavoring  to 
escape  from  herself. 

The  streets  were  silent  and  the  Plaza  deserted,  and  naught 
seemed  stirring  save  the  swallows  that  twittered  and  circled 
round  and  round  the  belfry  of  the  church.  There  was 
something  soothing  in  the  deep  stillness  that  reigned  on  that 
balmy  morning,  and  Inez  felt  its  influence.  She  paused  at 
the  entrance  of  the  gray  old  church,  and  stretched  forth 
her  arms  to  the  rosy  east. 

“  Peace,  peace !  ”  she  murmured,  in  a  weary  tone,  and 
sunk  her  head  upon  her  bosom.  The  door  opened  behind 
her,  and  raising  herself  proudly,  she  drew  the  scarf  closer 
about  her,  and  entered. 

A  basin  of  holy  water  was  placed  near,  and  hastily  she 
signed  the  figure  of  the  cross  and  proceeded  down  the  aisle 
to  a  side  door  leading  to  one  of  the  wings.  She  pushed  it 
noiselessly  ajar  and  passed  in. 

A  solitary  tin  sconce  dimly  lighted  the  small  confessional, 
dark  and  gloomy  as  night,  at  that  early  hour.  A  wooden 
cross  suspended  from  the  wall,  a  stone  bench,  and  table,  on 
which  lay  a  rosary  and  crucifix,  and  a  small  vessel  of  holy 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO.  37 

« 

water,  formed  the  entire  furniture.  Before  this  table  sat 
Father  Mazzolin,  his  face  buried  in  his  hands.  Her  step, 
light  as  it  was,  startled  him ;  yet  without  rising,  he  mur- 
mured,  “  Benedicit.” 

“  Bueno  dios,  Padre.” 

He  motioned  to  her  to  kneel,  and  she  did  so,  on  the  damp 
floor  at  his  feet,  drawing  the  scarf  over  her  face,  so  as  to 
conceal  the  features. 

“  Bless  me,  my  Father,  because  I  have  sinned.” 

He  laid  his  hands  on  her  bowed  head,  and  muttered  in¬ 
distinctly  a  Latin  phrase.  “  I  confess  to  Almighty  God,  to 
blessed  Mary,  ever  Virgin,  to  blessed  Michael  the  Arch¬ 
angel,  to  blessed  John  the  Baptist,  to  the  holy  apostles  Peter 
and  Paul,  and  to  all  the  saints,  that  I  have  sinned  exceed¬ 
ingly  in  thought,  word,  and  deed,  through  my  most  grievous 
fault.  Therefore  I  beseech  the  blessed  Mary,  ever  Virgin, 
the  blessed  Michael  the  Archangel,  the  blessed  John  the 
Baptist,  the  holy  apostles  Peter  and  Paul,  and  all  the  saints, 
to  pray  to  the  Lord  our  God  for  me. 

“  Since  my  last  confession,  I  accuse  myself  of  many  sins. 
I  have  missed  mass,  vespers  and  many  holy  ordinances  of 
our  most  holy  church.  Have  borne  hatred,  and  given  most 
provoking  language. 

“  I  have  broken  the  engagement  thou  did’st  command  me 
to  keep ;  have  angered  Manuel,  and  enraged  my  father 
greatly.  I  neglected  fasting  on  the  day  of  our  most  holy 
Saint - . 

“  I  have  entered  this  church,  this  holy  sanctuary,  without 
crossing  myself  ;  and  passed  the  image  of  the  Blessed  Virgin 
without  kneeling.”  She  paused,  and  bent  her  head  lower. 

The  Padre  then  said,  “  My  daughter,  thy  sins  are  griev¬ 
ous  ;  my  heart  bleeds  over  thy  manifold  transgressions.” 

“  Even  so,  my  Father;  even  so.” 

i  1  Dost  thou  still  bear  enmity  to  Manuel  Nevarro,  who 
loves  thee  truly,  and  is  thy  promised  husband  ?  ” 

“  No,  my  Father;  I  desire  to  be  speedily  reconciled  to 
him  whom  I  have  offended.” 

“  Wilt  thou  promise  to  offer  no  objection,  but  become  his 
wife  ?  ” 

“  My  Father,  I  do  not  wish  to  be  his  wife  ;  vet  thy  will, 
not  mine.” 


38  INEZ:  a  2 ALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 

A  smile  of  triumph  glittered  in  the  Padre's  eye  at  this 
confession  ;  yet  his  low  tone  was  unchanged. 

“  Inez,  I  will  not  force  thee  to  marry  Manuel,  yet  thou 
shalt  never  be  another’s  wife.  In  infancy  thou  wast  prom¬ 
ised,  and  thy  hand  can  never  be  joined  to  another.  Choose 
you,  my  daughter,  and  choose  quickly.” 

“  Padre,  give  me  time.  May  one  so  guilty  as  I  speak 
out  ?  ” 

“  Yes,  speak ;  for  I  would  have  thine  inmost  thoughts.” 

44  Father,  let  me  spend  a  month  of  quiet  and  peace  among 
the  holy  sisters  at  San  Jose  ;  there  will  I  determine  either 
to  be  Manuel’s  wife,  or  dedicate  the  remainder  of  my  life  to 
the  service  of  God  and  our  most  Holy  Lady.” 

“  You  have  spoken  well :  even  so  shall  it  be  ;  but,  Inez, 
I  would  question  you  further,  and  see  you  answer  me  truly, 
as  you  desire  the  intercession  of  the  Blessed  Virgin.” 

Inez  lifted  her  head,  and  fixing  her  eyes  full  on  his  swarthy 
face,  replied  with  energy  : 

“  My  Father,  even  as  I  desire  the  intercession  of  our 
Blessed  Virgin,  so  will  I  answer.” 

The  head  was  bent  again  on  her  bosom.  He  had  sought 
to  read  her  countenance  during  that  brief  glance,  but  there 
was  a  something  in  its  dark  depths  he  could  not  quite  under¬ 
stand. 

“  My  daughter,  hast  thou  been  of  late  with  that  Protestant 
girl,  by  name  Mary  Irving  ?  ” 

“  I  have  seen  her  twice  since  last  confession.” 

44  Where  did  you  meet  her  ?  ” 

44  Once  at  Senora  Perraras,  and  once  she  came  for  me, 
to  walk  with  her.” 

44  Answer  truly.  Upon  what  subjects  did  you  converse  ?  ” 

Inez  seemed  striving  to  recall  some  portion  of  what  had 
past.  At  last  she  said,  44  Indeed,  Padre,  I  cannot  remember 
much  she  said.  It  was  mostly  of  birds,  and  trees,  and 
flowers,  and  something,  I  believe,  about  this  beautiful  town, 
as  she  called  it.” 

44  Think  again.  Did  she  not  speak  lightly  of  the  blessed 
church,  and  most  holy  faith  ?  Did  she  not  strive  to  turn 
you  to  her  own  cursed  doctrines,  and,  above  all,  did  she  not 
speak  of  me,  your  Padre,  with  scorn  ?  ” 

“  No,  my  Father,  most  truly  she  did  not.”  A v?Jn  she 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 


3$ 


raised  her  eyes  to  his  face.  Piercing  was  the  glance  he 
bent  upon  her.  Yet  hers  fell  not  beneath  it :  calm  and  im* 
movable  she  seemed. 

He  lifted  his  hand  menacingly. 

“  I  bid  you  now  beware  of  her,  and  her  friend,  the  trader’s 
wife.  They  are  infernal  heretics,  sent  hither  by  the  evil  one 
to  turn  good  Catholics  from  their  duty.  I  say  again,  beware 
of  them  !  ”  and  he  struck  his  hand  heavily  on  the  table 
beside  him.  “  And  now,  my  daughter,  have  you  relieved 
your  conscience  of  its  burden  ?  Remember,  one  sin  with¬ 
held  at  confession  will  curse  you  on  your  death-bed,  and  send 
you,  unshriven,  to  perdition  !  ” 

A  sort  of  shudder  ran  through  the  bowed  form  of  Inez* 
and  in  a  low  tone,  she  replied,  “  I  also  accuse  myself  of  all 
the  sins  that  may  have  escaped  my  memory,  and  by  which, 
as  well  as  those  I  have  confessed,  I  have  offended  Almighty 
God,  through  my  most  grievous  fault.” 

“  I  enjoin  upon  you,  as  penance  for  the  omission  of  the 
holy  ordinances  of  our  most  holy  church,  five  Credos  when 
you  hear  the  matin  bell,  twelve  Paters  when  noon  comes 
round,  and  five  Aves  at  vespers.  These  shall  you  repeat, 
kneeling  upon  the  hard  floor,  with  the  crucifix  before  you, 
and  your  rosary  in  your  hand.  In  addition,  you  must  repair 
to  a  cell  of  San  Jose,  and  there  remain  one  month.  More* 
over,  you  shall  see  and  speak  to  none,  save  the  holy  sisters. 
And  now,  my  daughter,  I  would  absolve  you.” 

Inez  bent  low,  while  he  spread  his  hands  above  her  head 
and  pronounced  the  Latin  text  to  that  effect,  then  bade  her 
rise,  and  dismissed  her  with  a  blessing. 

The  sun  was  just  visible  over  the  eastern  hills,  as  Inez 
stepped  upon  the  Plaza.  Her  face  was  deadly  pale,  and  the 
black  eyes  glittered  strangely. 

“  I  have  knelt  to  thee  for  the  last  time,  Father  Mazzolin. 
Long  enough  you  have  crushed  me  to  the  earth  ;  one  short 
month  of  seeming  servitude,  and  I  am  free.  Think  you  I 
too  cannot  see  the  gathering  tempest  ?  for  long  I  have 
watched  it  rise.  It  may  be  that  happiness  is  denied  me| 
but  yonder  gurgling  waters  shall  receive  my  body  ere  I  be¬ 
come  a  lasting  inmate  of  your  gloomy  cell.  My  plan  works; 
well;  even  my  wily  Padre  thinks  me  penitent  for  the  pastl 
But  dearly  have  I  bought  my  safety.  I  have  played  false  t 


40 


A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAM 


lied!  where  is  my  conscience?  Have  I  one?  No,  no  !  ’tis 
dead.  Dead  from  the  hour  I  listened  to  the  Padre’s  teach- 
ings !  If  there  be  a  hereafter,  and,  oh !  if  there  is  a  God, 
what  will  become  of  me  ?  ”  And  the  girl  shuddered  convul¬ 
sively.  “  Yet  I  have  heard  him  lie.  I  know  that  even  he 
heeds  not  the  laws  of  his  pretended  God  !  He  bade  me 
follow  his  teachings,  and  I  did,  and  I  deceived  him  !  Ha  1 
he  thinks  the  game  all  at  his  fingers’  ends.  But  I  will  neither 
marry  Manuel,  nor  be  a  holy  sister  of  Jose.  There  will 
come  a  time  for  me.  Now  I  must  work,  keep  him  in  the 
dark,  spend  the  month  in  seclusion  ;  by  that  time  the  troubles 
here  will  begin,  and  who  may  tell  the  issue  ?  ” 

A  quick  step  behind  her  caused  Inez  to  turn  in  the  midst 
of  her  soliloquy.  Dr.  Bryant  was  hastening  by,  but  paused 
at  sight  of  her  face. 

“  Ah,  Sehorita  !  How  do  you  do  this  beautiful  morn¬ 
ing  ?  ”  He  looked  at  her  earnestly,  and  added,  “  You  are 
too  pale,  Inez — much  too  pale.  Your  midnight  vigils  do 
not  agree  with  you  ;  believe  me,  I  speak  seriously,  you  will 
undermine  your  health.”  Her  eyes  were  lixed  earnestly  on 
his  noble  face,  beaming  with  benevolence,  and  a  slight  flush 
tinged  her  cheek,  as  she  replied,  “  Dr.  Bryant,  I  am  not  the 
devout  Catholic  you  suppose  me.  The  Padre  thinks  me 
remiss  in  many  of  my  duties,  and  I  am  going  for  a  short 
time  to  San  Jose.  You  need  not  look  at  me  so  strangely,  I 
have  no  idea  of  becoming  a  nun,  I  assure  you.” 

“  Inez,  one  of  your  faith  can  never  be  sure  of  anything ; 
let  me  entreat  you  not  to  go  to  the  convent.  You  need  rec¬ 
reation,  and  had  much  better  mount  your  pony,  and  canter 
a  couple  of  miles  every  morning ;  it  would  insure  a  more 
healthful  state  of  both  body  and  mind.” 

"  “I  must  go,  Dr.  Bryant.” 

u  Well  then,  good-by,  if  you  must,  yet  I  fear  you  will  not 
return  looking  any  better.” 

“  Adios,”  and  they  parted. 

Inez’s  eye  followed  the  retreating  form  till  an  adjoining 
corner  intervened.  Then  pressing  her  hand  on  her  heart, 
as  if  to  still  some  exquisite  pain,  she  murmured  in  saddened 
tones — “  Oh  !  I  would  lay  down  my  life  for  your  love,  yet  it  is 
lavished  on  one  who  has  no  heart  to  give  in  return.  Oh, 
that  I  may  one  day  be  able  to  serve  you  l  ” 


JVEZ :  A  TALE  OF  Ttiu.  ALAMO . 


41 


At  that  moment  she  perceived  Manuel  Nevarro  crossing 
the  Plaza,  and  drawing  closer  the  mantilla,  she  hastened 
homeward. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

“  A  perfect  woman,  nobly  planned  ; 

To  warn,  to  counsel,  to  command, 

The  reason  firm,  the  temperate  will, 

Prudence,  foresight,  strength,  and  skill.” 

Wordsworth. 

The  beautiful  ideal  of  Wordsworth  seemed  realized  in 
Mrs.  Carlton.  She  was  by  nature  impetuous,  and  even 
irritable ;  but  the  careful  training  of  her  deeply  pious  mother 
early  eradicated  these  seeds  of  discord  and  future  misery. 
She  reared  her  “  in  the  way  she  should  go,”  and  taught  her 
to  “  remember  her  Creator  in  the  days  of  her  youth.”  Crush¬ 
ing  vanity,  which  soon  rose  hydra-headed  in  her  path,  she 
implanted  in  her  daughter’s  heart  a  sense  of  her  own  unworth¬ 
iness,  and  led  her  to  the  “  fountain  of  light  and  strength.” 

Under  her  judicious  care,  Ellen’s  character  was  molded 
into  perfect  beauty.  She  became  a  Christian,  in  the  purest 
sense  of  the  term.  Hers  were  not  the  gloomy  tenets  of  the 
anchorite,  which,  with  a  sort  of  Spartan  stoicism,  severs 
every  tie  enjoined  by  his  great  Creator,  bids  adieu  to  all  of 
joy  that  earth  can  give,  and  becomes  a  devotee  at  the  shrine 
of  some  canonized  son  of  earth,  as  full  of  imperfections  as 
himself.  Neither  did  she  hold  the  lighter  and  equally  dan¬ 
gerous  creed  of  the  latitudinarian.  Her  views  were  of  a 
happy  medium  ;  liberal,  yet  perfectly  orthodox. 

Ellen  married  early  in  life,  and  many  were  the  trials  which 
rose  up  to  test  her  fortitude,  and  even  her  reliance  on  al¬ 
mighty  God.  Of  six  beautiful  children  that  blessed  her 
union,  four  went  down  to  an  early  tomb.  Though  bowed 
to  the  earth  by  the  weight  of  her  affliction,  she  murmured 
not  against  the  hand  that  chastened  her ;  but  as  one  by  one 
was  snatched  from  her  warm  embrace,  she  poured  out  the 
depth  of  a  mother’s  love  on  the  remaining  two. 

One  stroke  of  fortune  reduced  her,  in  a  day,  from  afflu¬ 
ence  to  comparative  penury ;  and  leaving  his  luxurious  home, 


42 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


Mr.  Carlton  resolved  to  seek  his  fortune  in  the  Western 
World.  Hither  she  had  accompanied  him,  encountering, 
without  a  murmur,  the  numerous  hardships,  which  those 
who  have  not  endured  can  never  fully  realize.  They  had 
preceded  Mr.  Hamilton  but  a  few  months,  and  joyfully  wel¬ 
comed  him  as  an  agreeable  acquisition  to  their  little  circle. 

Mrs.  Carlton  found  in  Mary  a  real  friend ;  one  who  sym¬ 
pathized  with,  and  assisted  her  in  her  many  benevolent  plans 
for  ameliorating  the  condition  of  the  destitute  Mexicans 
around  them. 

With  Florence,  the  former  had  little  affinity,  and,  conse¬ 
quently,  little  intercourse.  Their  tastes  were  directly  op¬ 
posite,  and  though  they  often  met,  there  was  no  interchange 
of  the  deep  and  holier  feelings  of  the  heart. 

Frank  Bryant  was  the  orphan-brother  of  Mrs.  Carlton,  and 
almost  as  dearly  loved  by  her  as  her  own  darling  Elliot.  A  few 

months  before  St. - ’s  day,  he  reached  San  Antonio,  on 

a  visit  to  the  sister,  from  whom  he  had  been  separated 
several  years.  Soon  after  his  arrival,  an  epidemic  made  its 
appearance  among  the  lower  order  of  Mexicans ;  and  as 
there  was  no  resident  physician  at  that  early  time,  his  ser¬ 
vices  were  speedily  in  requisition.  The  Padre,  who  num¬ 
bered  among  his  many  acquirements  a  tolerable  knowledge 
of  medicine,  viewed  with  indifference  the  suffering  around 
him ;  and  was  only  roused  from  his  lethargy  by  discovering 
the  flattering  estimation  in  which  Frank  was  held.  Fearing 
so  formidable  a  rival  in  the  affections  of  his  people,  he  left 
no  means  untried  to  undermine  the  popularity  so  deservedly 
acquired.  But  gratitude  is  a  distinguishing  tiait  of  Indian 
character  ;  and  though  apparently  obeying  the  injunctions 
of  their  Padre,  to  follow  no  directions  save  his  own,  they 
reverenced  Dr.  Bryant  as  a  being  of  superior  order. 

It  was  beside  the  bed  of  a  dying  friend  that  Inez  first  met 
him.  One  long  weary  night  they  watched  together,  and 
when  at  last  death  freed  the  sufferer,  with  mingled  emotions 
of  admiration  and  gratitude  she  thanked  him  for  the  attentions 
conferred  with  such  disinterested  benevolence.  She  could 
not  avoid  contrasting  the  conduct  of  the  cold  and  calculating 
Jesuit  with  the  warm-hearted  kindness  of  the  noble  stranger. 

In  a  few  days  it  became  evident  that  she  had  herself  im¬ 
bibed  the  disease,  and  her  terrified  father  brought  the  young 


INEZ  :  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


43 


physician  to  restore  her.  With  unwearied  patience  he 
watched  ever  the  beautiful  Sehorita,  whom  Mrs.  Carlton  and 
Mary  most  carefully  nursed,  and  was  rewarded  by  the  glow 
of  returning  health. 

The  idols  of  her  youth  were  neglected  and  forgotten ;  one 
image  filled  Inez’s  heart,  and  before  it  she  poured  out  all 
the  passionate  love  of  her  ardent  nature ;  hence  her  aver¬ 
sion  to  a  union  with  Manuel  Nevarro. 

Dr.  Bryant  early  perceived  her  attachment ;  and  knowing 
full  well  that  he  could  never  return  it,  avoided  her  society 
with  a  delicacy  peculiarly  his  own.  When  thrown  accident¬ 
ally  into  her  presence,  his  manner  was  frank,  kind,  and 
brotherly. 

Inez  did  not  deceive  herself  for  a  moment  by  supposing 
that  he  would  ever  return  her  love.  She  knew  too  well  the 
nature  of  the  barrier  which  intervened.  To  remain  un¬ 
fettered,  to  see,  to  love,  and  one  day  to  serve  him,  was  her 
dearest  wish  ;  and  for  its  gratification  she  dared  the  rage  of 
her  father,  and  the  hatred  of  her  Padre.  She  fancied  he 
loved  another,  and  with  the  characteristic  jealousy  of  her 
nation,  an  aversion  to  that  object  settled  on  her  heart. 

Dr.  Bryant  had  nursed  the  last  patient  into  convalescence : 
still  he  lingered,  and  at  the  close  of  St. - ’s  day,  an¬ 

nounced  his  intention  of  remaining  until  the  difficulties  with 
Mexico  were  either  amicably  arranged,  or  war  declared. 
Mary  and  Florence  he  often  met,  for  he  was  a  constant 
visitor  at  Mr.  Hamilton’s.  His  manner  toward  them  was 
very  different ;  with  Mary  he  ever  assumed  the  light  banter¬ 
ing  tone  of  brotherly  freedom ;  with  Florence  he  was  always 
grave  and  earnest.  Their  conversation  was  generally  upon 
literary  topics,  of  which  she  was  fond.  Many  were  their 
discussions  for  and  against  their  favorite  authors  and 
philosophers.  In  these  arguments  Mary  seldom  took 
part,  though  fully  qualified  to  do  so.  Occasionally  her 
cousin  asked  her  opinion  on  various  topics ;  at  such  times 
she  gave  them  clearly,  yet  modestly,  and  with  a  gentle  dig¬ 
nity  peculiar  to  herself.  The  earnest  attention  with  which 
Frank  listened  to  her  views,  and  his  happy  smile,  when 
they  coincided  with  his  own,  somewhat  puzzled  Mary ;  yet 
she  welcomed  his  repartees  with  the  same  bright  smile,  and 
allowed  distrust  and  jealousy  no  room  in  her  heart. 


44 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


CHAPTER  X. 

“He  swore  that  love  of  souls 
Alone  had  drawn  him  to  the  church  ;  yet  strewed 
The  path  that  led  to  hell  with  tempting  flowers. 

And  in  the  ear  of  sinners,  as  they  took 
The  way  of  death,  he  whispered  peace." 

POLLOK. 

How  wearily  pass  the  hours  to  the  anxious  watcher 
the  couch  of  pain.  To  her,  it  seems  as  though  the  current 
of  time  had  forgotten  to  run  on  and  join  the  mighty  past, 
and  that  its  swift  waters  were  gathering  glassily  around  her. 
With  unmitigated  care,  Florence  had  attended  the  bedside  of 
her  suffering  parent ;  occasionally  slumbering  on  his  pillow,  • 
but  more  frequently  watching  through  the  long  nights,  and 
often  stealing  to  the  casement,  to  look  out  upon  surrounding 
gloom,  and  wonder  if  the  light  of  day  would  ever  fall  again  on 
earth.  Ah !  in  the  midnight  hour,  when  all  nature  is  hushed 
when  universal  darkness  reigns,  when  the  “  still  small  voice  n 
will  no  longer  be  silenced,  then  we  are  wont  to  commune 
with  our  own  hearts.  All  barriers  melt  away,  and  the  sad¬ 
dened  past,  the  troubled  present,  and  the  shadowy  future 
rise  successively  before  us,  and  refuse  to  be  put  by.  In 
vain  we  tightly  close  the  aching  lids  ;  strange  lurid  lights 
flare  around  us,  and  mysterious  forms  glide  to  and  fro. 

To  the  guilty,  how  fearful  must  the  season  of  darkness 
prove,  when,  unable  longer  to  escape  from  themselves,  they 
yield  to  the  pangs  of  remorse,  and  toss  in  unutterable  an¬ 
guish  ! 

“  By  night,  an  atheist  half  believes  a  God.” 

And  thousands,  who  in  the  sunny  light  of  day  rush  madly  on 
to  ruin,  pause,  shudderingly,  in  the  midnight  hour,  and  look 
yearningly  toward  the  narrow  path  where  Virtue’s  lamp, 
flashing  into  the  deepest  recesses  of  surrounding  gloom,  dis¬ 
pels  all  shadow;  and,  in  imagination,  view  the  Christian 
peacefully  descending  the  hill  of  life,  fearlessly  crossing  tha 


INEZ *  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


45 


“  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death,’’  and  resting  at  last  on  that 
blest  shore,  where  night  and  darkness  are  unknown,  “  swal¬ 
lowed  up  in  endless  day.” 

It  was  very  evident  that  Mr.  Hamilton  could  survive  but 
a  few  days ;  and  to  every  entreaty  that  she  would  take  some 
rest,  Florence  but  shook  her  head,  and  replied,  that  she 
would  not  leave  him  when  he  must  die  so  soon. 

One  evening  Dr.  Bryant,  having  administered  a  soothing 
potion,  turned  to  her  and  said,  “  My  dear  Miss  Hamilton, 
you  will  seriously  injure  your  health  by  such  constant  watch¬ 
ing.  Your  father  needs  nothing  now  but  quiet.  Let  me 
entreat  you  to  go  out  for  a  short  time  ;  the  air  will  refresh 
you,  and  your  aunt  will  remain  with  Mr.  Hamilton.”  He 
drew  her  reluctantly  from  her  seat  as  he  spoke,  and  whispered 
Mary  to  accompany  her. 

Drawing  her  arm  round  Florence,  Mary  turned  in  the 
direction  of  their  accustomed  rambles,  but  her  cousin  said, 
“  I  am  too  weary  to  walk  far,  let  us  go  to  our  old  seat  by  the 
river.” 

The  stream  was  only  a  few  yards  distant,  and  they  seated 
themselves  on  a  broad,  flat  stone,  beneath  a  cluster  of 
pomegranate  and  figs.  The  evening  was  beautifully  clear, 
the  soft  light  which  still  lingered  in  the  west  mellowing 
every  object,  and  the  balmy  southern  breeze,  fresh  from  “  old 
ocean’s  bosom,”  rustling  musically  amidst  the  branches 
above.  As  if  to  enhance  the  sweetness  of  the  hour,  and  win 
the  mourners  from  their  sad  thoughts,  the  soothing  tones  of 
the  vesper  bells  floated  afar  on  the  evening  air ;  distance 
had  softened  them,  and  now  they  sounded  clear  and  Eolian- 
like.  The  river  eddied  and  curled  rapidly  along  at  their 
feet ;  and  ever  and  anon,  the  stillness  that  seemed  settling 
around  was  broken  by  the  plunging  fish,  that  gambled  in 
hundreds  amidst  its  blue  waters. 

How  calm  and  holy  this  stillness  seems  !  Florry,  does 
it  not  cause  you  to  lift  your  heart  in  gratitude  to  the 
*  almighty  Giver  ’  of  so  many  blessings  ?  ” 

“  All  things  are  dark  to  sorrow  ;  ”  replied  Florence,  and 
folding  her  arms  across  her  bosom,  she  dropped  her  head 
wearily  upon  them. 

“  Oh,  Florry,  do  not  give  up  so  !  I  cannot  bear  to  hear 
your  despairing  tone.  Still  hope ;  your  dear  father  may  be 


46 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 

Spared  to  us ;  ”  and  she  put  her  arms  caressingly  around 
her. 

“  Hope !  ”  echoed  Florence ;  “  I  have  ceased  to  hope  that 
he  will  recover.  I  know  that  he  cannot ;  and  in  a  few  hours 
I  shall  be  alone  in  the  world  Alone,  alone  !  ”  she  repeated 
the  words,  as  if  fully  to  realize  the  misery  in  store  for  her. 
“  O  God  1  why  hast  thou  not  taken  me  before  ?  Take  me 
now  ;  oh,  in  mercy,  take  me  with  him !  ” 

In  vain  Mary  strove  to  soothe  and  console  her  ;  she  re* 
mained  perfectly  still,  her  face  hid  in  her  arms,  and  replied 
not  to  her  anxious  questionings.  A  long  silence  ensued, 
and  Mary  wept.  A  feeling  of  desolation  began  to  creep 
over  her ;  a  second  time  she  was  to  be  thrown  on  the  wide, 
cold  world.  She  thought  of  her  uncle’s  generosity  and  un¬ 
varied  kindness  during  the  many  years  she  had  dwelt  under 
his  roof,  and  scarcely  felt  that  it  was  not  her  own.  And 
then  there  stole  up  the  image  of  her  lost  mother ;  the  wan, 
but  saint-like  face,  and  the  heavenly  smile  with  which  she 
pointed  upward,  and  bade  her  child  prepare  for  the  glorious 
union,  in  that  mansion  which  Jehovah  assigned  to  those  who 
are  faithful  on  earth. 

Poor  Mary’s  heart  was  sad  indeed ;  yet  there  was  no 
bitterness  in  her  soul,  no  rebellious  feelings  toward  Almighty 
God,  who  had  thus  afflicted  her  so  sorely.  She  wiped  away 
her  tears,  and  calming  herself  as  much  as  possible,  repeated, 
in  a  faltering  voice,  the  beautiful  hymn  commencing  “  I 
would  not  live  always.”  She  paused  at  the  conclusion  of 
the  second  verse ;  but  Florence  did  not  lift  her  head,  and 
hoping  to  cheer  her,  she  finished  the  hymn. 

Twilight  had  fallen  on  the  earth,  and  the  blue  vault  of 
heaven  was  studded  with  its  myriad  lamps.  The  new  moon 
glittered  like  a  golden  thread — low  in  the  west — and  seemed 
almost  to  rest  upon  the  bosom  of  the  stream,  as  it  curved  in 
the  distance  to  meet  the  horizon. 

“  Come,  Florry,  you  must  not  stay  out  so  late ;  I  am 
afraid  you  will  take  cold !  ” 

Florence  rose  mechanically  and  accompanied  her. 

“  Oh,  Florry,  do  try  and  trust  in  God,  and  believe  that 
in  every  trial  and  affliction  he  will  comfort  and  assist  us.” 

Her  cousin  sighed  heavily,  but  made  no  reply. 

As  they  reached  the  gate  it  was  quickly  opened,  and  the 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO 


47 


Padre  met  them :  he  bowed  coldly  to  Mary,  but  shook 
hands  with  Florence,  and  promised  to  come  again  the  ensu¬ 
ing  day.  It  was  so  late  that  Mary  could  not  distinguish  his 
features;  but  just  as  he  turned  to  go,  Aunt  Fanny  threw 
open  the  kitchen  door,  and  the  light  streamed  full  on  his 
face ;  their  eyes  met,  and  she  started  at  the  smile  of  triumph 
that  irradiated  his  dark  countenance :  he  bowed,  and 
passed  on. 

Mary  hastened  down  the  walk,  and  entered  the  sick 
room,  fearing  she  scarcely  knew  what.  The  invalid  was 
tossing  restlessly  from  side  to  side,  and  on  the  pillow  lay  a 
rosary  and  crucifix.  For  an  instant  she  stood  motionless ; 
then  sprang  forward,  and  clasped  his  burning  hand  in  hers. 
“  Uncle !  dear  uncle !  tell  me  who  has  been  with  you ! 
Aunt  Lizzy  promised  she  would  not  leave  you  till  we  came 
back.  You  have  been  excited;  your  hands  are  burning 
with  fever !  ” 

“  I  was  not  alone,  Mary ;  the  Padre  sat  and  talked  with 
me ;  ”  as  the  sufferer  spoke,  he  shuddered  and  closed  his 
eyes. 

“  And  did  he  leave  these  here !  ”  said  she,  taking  up  the 
crucifix  and  rosary. 

“  No,  no  !  they  are  mine  !  ”  and  he  snatched  them  from  her. 

Mary  turned  pale,  and  leaned  against  the  bed  for  sup¬ 
port.  Florence,  now  bending  over  her  father,  motioned  to 
her  cousin  to  be  silent ;  without  effect,  however ;  for,  pass¬ 
ing  round  the  bed,  she  knelt  beside  him.  “  Uncle,  was  it 
by  your  desire  that  the  Padre  came  here  this  evening  ?  ” 

He  did  not  seem  to  hear  her  question ;  she  repeated  it. 

“  Yes ;  that  is,  this  is  not  his  first  visit.” 

“  Uncle,  why  do  you  evade  me  ?  Tell  me,  I  entreat  you, 
if  he  did  not  force  himself  here  in  my  absence  1  ” 

“  Mary,  will  you  drive  my  father  delirious  with  your  in¬ 
terference  with  his  wishes  ?  ” 

“  No,  Florry,  not  when  I  am  convinced  that  such  are  his 
wishes.  I  know  that  in  health  he  is  no  more  a  Papist  than 
you  or  I ;  yet,  now  I  see  him  clinging  to  that  rosary  and 
crucifix,  what  am  I  to  think?  If  you  can  explain  this 
mystery,  do  so,  Florry.” 

“  The  day  that  you  were  at  Mrs.  Carlton’s,  learning  to 
make  that  custard  my  father  likes  so  well,  the  Padre  came, 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 


45 

and  kindly  sat  with  him  some  time.  He  Game  the  next 
night,  and  the  next ;  and  read  and  prayed  with  him.  I 
hope  you  are  satisfied  now  that  there  is  no  intrusion.”  All 
this  was  whispered  so  low  as  not  to  reach  the  ears  of  the 
invalid. 

“  Were  you  present  at  any  of  these  interviews,  Florry  ? 99 

“  No  ;  they  always  preferred  being  alone.” 

“  Oh  !  why  did  you  not  tell  me  this  before  ?  ” 

“  I  am  sure  I  can’t  see  what  you  are  so  excited  about  I 
If  my  father  chooses  to  become  a  Catholic,  I  should  think 
it  would  relieve  you  to  know  that  he  realizes  his  situation. 99 
She  turned  resolutely  away  as  she  finished  speaking,  and 
seated  herself  beside  the  bed. 

Mary  left  the  room  almost  stunned  by  the  discovery  she 
had  made  ;  and  scarce  knowing  what  to  do,  wrapped  her 
shawl  about  her,  and  walked  quickly  to  Mrs.  Carlton’s. 
To  her  she  related  all  she  had  just  learned,  and  begged  her 
advice  and  assistance. 

Mrs.  Carlton  was  sorely  puzzled  and  much  distressed. 

“  I  fear,  Mary,  it  is  too  late  to  remedy  the  evil.” 

“  Oh,  do  not  say  so !  I  cannot  bear  that  he  should  die  in 
that  faith ;  he  is  too  feeble  to  oppose  anything  they  offer, 
and  is  scarcely  conscious  of  his  own  actions.  In  health, 
they  dared  not  approach  him  ;  for  they  knew  full  well  that 
he  scorned  their  creed,  and  disliked  their  Padre.  Yet  now 
that  he  is  so  weak,  in  both  body  and  mind,  they  hope  to  in¬ 
fluence  him.  Oh,  how  could  Florence  be  so  blind  !  Dear 
Mrs.  Carlton,  come  and  reason  with  him.  I  know  he  es¬ 
teems  you  very  highly,  and  your  opinion  might  weigh  with 
him.” 

“  Indeed,  my  dear  child,  I  will  do  all  in  my  power  to  dis¬ 
suade  him  from  the  unfortunate  course  he  has  taken,  but 
not  to-night ;  he  must  be  wearied  very  much  already.  I  will 
come  in  the  morning.” 

Early  the  ensuing  day  she  fulfilled  her  promise,  and  in 
Florence’s  presence  strove  to  elicit  his  views  and  belief.  To 
her  surprise  he  refused  to  hold  any  conversation  on  the  sub¬ 
ject  ;  declaring  that  his  mind  was  made  up,  and  that  he  was 
determined  to  die  a  member  of  the  holy  Catholic  Church. 

Before  she  could  frame  a  reply,  they  were  startled  by  the 
sound  of  a  struggle  at  the  door,  and  the  next  moment  it  waa 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 


49 


flung  wide  open,  and  Father  Mazzolin,  livid  with  r.age,  rushed 
in.  Mrs.  Carlton  rose  with  gentle  dignity,  and  inquired  his 
business.  He  heeded  not  her  question,  but  strode  to  the 
bed,  and  whispered  in  Mr.  Hamilton’s  ear.  The  invalid,  in 
a  voice  so  feeble  that  it  was  scarce  audible,  requested  them 
to  leave  him  with  the  Padre  for  an  hour,  as  he  wished  to 
converse  with  him  alone.  Mrs.  Carlton  perfectly  well  under¬ 
stood  that  he  but  repeated  the  priest’s  orders,  and  perceiving 
that  nothing  could  now  be  effected,  left  the  room  accom¬ 
panied  by  Florence.  But  Mary  clung  to  the  bed,  and  re¬ 
fused  to  go. 

“  You  have  taken  advantage  of  my  uncle’s  weakness  to 
force  yourself  where  your  presence  is  unwelcome,  and  I  will 
not  leave  him  when  he  is  too  weak  to  oppose  your  orders.” 

He  strove  to  force  her  out,  but  she  clung  firmly  to  the 
bed  ;  and  muttering  an  oath  between  his  teeth,  he  turned 
to  the  sufferer,  and  spoke  in  an  unknown  tongue ;  a  feeble 
response  in  the  same  language  seemed  to  satisfy  him,  and 
darting  a  triumphant  glance  at  the  kneeling  girl,  he  seated 
himself,  and  conversed  for  nearly  an  hour.  Then  offering 
up  a  Latin  prayer,  departed,  promising  to  come  again. 

Mrs.  Carlton  had  not  left  the  house  ;  she  waited  anxiously 
for  Mary.  And  when  Florence  re-entered  the  sick  room, 
the  former  hastened  to  her  friend. 

“  Oh,  I  did  all  I  could  to  prevent  it !  ”  cried  Mary,  in 
despair.  “  All  is  over,  I  am  afraid.  I  was  sitting  on  the 
doorstep,  preparing  some  arrowroot,  when  I  saw  Aunt 
Lizzy  go  out  the  gate.  I  thought  it  strange  at  the  time  of 
day,  but  never  suspected  the  truth.  Presently  I  saw  her 
coming  back  with  the  priest,  and  knew  in  an  instant  she  had 
gone  for  him.  I  was  determined  to  prevent  his  seeing  my 
uncle,  if  possible,  and  fastened  the  front  door.  Before  I 
could  lock  my  uncle’s,  he  wrenched  open  the  window,  and 
sprang  in.  I  tried  to  put  the  key  in  my  pocket,  and  told 
him  he  could  not  go  in  then  ;  but  he  made  Aunt  Lizzy  hold 
one  of  my  hands,  while  he  forced  open  my  fingers  and  took 
the  key.  Oh  l  that  Dr.  Bryant  had  been  here.”  She  showed 
Mrs.  Carlton  the  marks  of  his  grasp  on  her  wrist.  “  Tell, 
oh,  tell  me  what  I  can  do  to  save  him  !  ” 

“  Alas  !  nothing,  Mary.  He  is  completely  under  the  con¬ 
trol  of  the  Padre,  and  no  reasoning  will  avail  him  now.” 

4* 


5° 


INEZ :  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 


With  a  sad  heart  Mrs.  Carlton  took  leave,  advising  Mary 
“  to  offer  no  further  resistance,  as  it  was  now  impossible  t£ 
convince  her  uncle  of  his  error.” 


CHAPTER  XI. 

*  He’s  gone — his  soul  hath  ta’en  its  earthless  flight. 

Whither  ?  I  dread  to  think — but  he  is  gone  !  ” 

Byron. 

Mr.  Hamilton,  though  perfectly  conscious  that  his  end 
was  rapidly  approaching,  had  scrupulously  avoided  the  sub 
ject  in  the  presence  of  the  girls.  One  morning,  after  a 
night  of  more  than  ordinary  suffering,  he  lay  quite  exhausted 
Death  was  at  hand,  and  feeling  intuitively  that  the  appointed 
hour  had  arrived,  he  requested  all  to  withdraw,  save  Florence. 
When  they  were  alone,  he  laid  his  hand  on  her  head,  and 
said,  in  a  low,  feeble  tone — “  Florence,  I  am  going.  I  cam 
not  survive  this  day,  and  I  wish  to  give  you  my  last  advice. 
I  am  afraid  your  lot  will  be  a  hard  one,  when  I  am  gone  $ 
trials  without  number  are  in  store  for  you.  Oh  !  my  proud- 
hearted,  beautiful  Florence,  what  will  become  of  you  now  ?  n 
He  covered  his  face  with  his  hands  a  moment,  then  con¬ 
tinued — “  I  do  not  wish  you  to  return  to  your  native  placee 
My  child  must  be  dependent  on  no  one,  yet  to  leave  you  here 
so  unprotected,  is  hard  indeed.  Dr.  Bryant  has  promised 
to  watch  over  you,  and  the  Carltons  are  kind  friends.  Flor* 
ence,  you  must  depend  upon  yourself.  Thank  God,  you 
are  strong-minded,  and  Mary,  our  kind,  good  Mary,  will  be 
near,  to  comfort  and  assist  you.  I  am  growing  weaker,  but 
there  is  one  more  thing  I  wish  to  say.” 

He  paused,  and  for  the  first  time  Florence  spoke. 

“  My  father,  tell  me  every  wish ;  fear  nothing  for  me, 
there  is  nothing  I  cannot  bear  now.” 

“  For  my  sake.  Florence,  if  not  for  your  own,  will  you 
promise  to  be  guided  by  Father  Mazzolin  ?  ” 

“  Do  you  mean  in  matters  of  religion,  my  father  ?  ” 

“  I  mean  in  all  things :  matters  of  interest,  as  well  as  mat* 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 


5* 

ters  of  faith.  He  will  assist  you  much,  if  you  will  but  fol¬ 
low  his  advice  and  directions.” 

There  was  a  pause,  and  then  Florence  said  slowly,  as  if 
weighing  every  word — “  Rest  assured  your  wishes  shall  be 
my  law.  I  will  consult  the  Padre  as  you  desire.” 

With  a  look  of  relief  the  dying  man  sank  back  on  his  pil¬ 
low,  and  closed  his  eyes.  Florence  quickly  summoned  the 
physician,  and  her  aunt  and  cousin,  A  little  while  after,  as 
Mr.  Hamilton’s  eye  fell  on  the  weeping  Mary,  he  extended 
his  hand,  and  when  she  bent  over  him,  drew  her  face  down, 
and  imprinted  a  long  kiss  on  her  pale  cheek.  Even  as  he 
did  so,  a  dark  form  glided  to  the  bedside.  Another  mo¬ 
ment,  the  uncle  and  niece  were  separated  ;  none  knew  how, 
yet  the  Padre  stood  between,  whispering  low  in  the  suf¬ 
ferer's  ear.  Almost  gasping  for  breath,  the  latter  intimated 
his  desire  to  confess  for  the  last  time.  And  they  were  left 
alone. 

Nearly  an  hour  after,  the  priest  entered  the  apartment 
where  Florence  and  Mary  sat.  He  trembled  visibly,  yet,  in 
his  usual  tone,  said  that  he  wished  the  family  to  be  present 
at  the  last  rites  about  to  be  performed  for  the  dying  Papist. 
They  immediately  repaired  to  the  sick  room,  and  the  spec¬ 
tacle  there  presented  made  Mary  quiver  in  every  limb.  The 
sufferer  had  been  placed  for  convenience  on  a  low  couch, 
and  was  supported  by  pillows  in  an  upright  position.  A 
dozen  candles  burnt  around  him,  and  a  cloud  of  incense 
wreathed  slowly  along  the  wall.  The  room  had  been  pro¬ 
fusely  sprinkled  with  holy  water,  and  a  chalice  containing 
the  consecrated  wafer,  sat  near.  Gasping  for  breath,  Mr. 
Hamilton  clasped  a  crucifix  to  his  lips,  though  unable  from 
weakness  to  secure  it  there  ;  for  twice  it  fell  from  his  fin¬ 
gers,  and  rolled  to  the  floor. 

Father  Mazzolin,  attired  in  a  surplice  ornamented  with 
the  insignia  of  his  order,  stood  beside  the  bed,  holding  in 
one  hand  a  superbly-bound  volume — in  the  other,  a  silver 
cup  containing  oil. 

After  a  moment’s  pause  he  opened  the  book,  and  hur¬ 
riedly  read  in  a  low,  muttering  tone,  a  Latin  service  of  sev¬ 
eral  pages.  At  the  conclusion  he  carefully  poured  out  a 
'  few  drops  of  the  oil,  and  just  touched  the  palms  of  the  suf¬ 
ferer’s  hands  and  the  soles  of  his  feet,  bidding  him  at  the 


52 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OP  THE  ALAMO. 


same  time  cross  himself.  Perceiving  that  he  was  utterly 
unable  to  do  so,  he  hastily  signed  the  figure  and  resumed 
his  reading.  How  long  he  would  have  gabbled  on  it  is  im¬ 
possible  to  say,  but  a  gasping  sound  from  the  dying  man 
declared  that  dissolution  was  at  hand,  and,  snatching  the 
chalice,  he  hastily  administered  the  wafer,  which  was  swal¬ 
lowed  with  difficulty.  For  the  third  time,  Father  Mazzolin 
strove  to  replace  the  crucifix  in  his  hand  and  bend  it  to  his 
lips.  The  cold  fingers  refused  to  clasp  the  consecrated 
wood,  and  sank,  stiffened  and  powerless,  by  his  side. 

Mary  had  gazed  mournfully  on  as  this  mummery  was 
enacted.  A  death-bed  for  a  theater,  weeping  relatives  an  audi¬ 
ence,  and  Father  Mazzolin  an  amateur  performer.  Aunt 
Lizzy  was  kneeling  beside  the  Padre,  ever  and  anon  invoking 
the  Virgin  ;  while  Florence  sat  with  her  face  in  her  hands,  al¬ 
most  as  unconscious  of  what  passed  as  her  dying  parent. 
She  bent  over  him  now,  and  in  heartrending  accents  con¬ 
jured  him  not  to  leave  her.  He  struggled  in  vain  to  utter 
words  of  comfort ;  they  died  away  in  whispers,  and,  with  a 
slight  moan,  the  spirit  returned  to  the  God  that  gave  it. 
The  Padre  snatched  his  hat  and  hastily  left  the  house,  while 
Mary  gave  vent  to  an  uncontrollable  burst  of  sorrow.  Flor¬ 
ence  seemed  suddenly  frozen,  so  rigid  was  her  countenance, 
as  she  gazed  on  the  cold  form  before  her.  She  neither  wept 
nor  moaned,  but  closed  the  eyes  with  a  long,  long  kiss,  and 
drawing  a  sheet  over  the  marble  features,  turned,  with  a 
slow,  unfaltering  step,  away. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

“For  now  that  Hope’s  last  ray  is  gone. 

Sure  Lethe’s  dream  would  bless  : 

In  grief  to  think  of  bliss  tha’ts  flown. 

Adds  pangs  to  wretchedness.” 

Anonymous. 

A  fortnight  had  passed,  and  again  it  was  evening.  In 
the  small  dining-room  of  Florence  Hamilton’s  humble  home 
Was  assembled  the  now  diminished  family  circle.  Florence 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO, 


53 


sat  sadly  apart,  leaning  her  head,  with  closed  eyes,  against 
the  window.  The  tea  bell  rang ;  she  lifted  her  head, 
glanced  round  the  room,  and  wearily  dropped  her  brow 
again  on  its  resting-place.  Mary  approached,  and  taking 
her  hand,  said,  in  a  gentle,  winning  tone,  “  Come,  Florry 
dear.” 

“  Eat  your  supper,  Mary ;  I  do  not  wish  any.” 

“  But  you  have  not  eaten  anything  to-day,  and  need  some¬ 
thing  ;  do  try,  for  my  sake.” 

“  I  cannot.  If  you  knew  how  both  head  and  heart  ache, 
you  would  not  urge  me.” 

Mary  turned  away,  and  ate  the  usually  joyous  meal  with 
a  heavy  heart.  Florence  had  left  her  seat,  and  was  stand¬ 
ing  in  the  door :  as  her  cousin  rose  from  the  table  she  beck¬ 
oned  to  her,  and  passed  hurriedly  out.  Mary  strove  to  catch 
her  arm,  but  she  hastened  on,  as  if  trying  to  escape  from 
herself.  Suddenly  she  paused  by  the  river  side,  and  clasped 
her  hands  convulsively  over  her  head. 

“  Mary  1  Mary  !  you  know  not  what  I  suffer.” 

“  Florry,  sit  down,  and  lean  your  weary  head  on  my 
shoulder.” 

She  dipped  her  hand  in  the  water,  and  dashed  the  cold, 
sparkling  drops  on  her  cousin’s  burning  brow,  speaking  the 
while  in  a  low,  soothing  tone.  Florence  rested  a  few 
moments  in  her  cousin’s  arms,  then  threw  herself  on  a 
grassy  bank,  and  covered  her  face ;  one  long,  deep  groan 
alone  attesting  her  mental  anguish.  Mary  wept  more 
bitterly  than  she  had  yet  done ;  still,  she  was  so  quiet,  none 
would  have  known  her  grief,  save  from  the  tears  that  fell 
over  her  hand  and  arms.  Can  it  be,  that  the  spirits  of 
departed  friends  hover  near  us  while  on  earth,  and  draw 
closer  in  hours  of  woe  ?  If  so,  why  is  it  denied  to  the 
suffering  one  to  hear  again  the  dear  accents  of  the  “  loved 
and  lost  ?  ”  Why  may  not  their  silver  pinions  fan  the  burn¬ 
ing  brow  of  sorrowing  mortality,  and  the  echo  of  Heaven’s 
own  melody  murmur  gently,  “  Peace,  peace  and  joy  for  ever¬ 
more  ?  ” 

Florence  stood  up  before  her  cousin ;  all  trace  of  emotion 
had  passed  away,  and  left  her  calm.  The  bright  moon 
shone  full  on  her  face.  Oh  !  how  changed  since  the 
morning  she  stood  in  Madame - ’s  schoolroom.  The 


54 


StfEZ  :  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 


large  dark  eyes  were  sunken ;  the  broad  brow  marked  with 
lines  of  mental  anguish  ;  the  cheeks  colorless,  and  her  long 
raven  hair  tossed  back,  and  hanging  like  a  veil  below  her 
slender  waist.  There  was  a  hollow,  wasted  look  in  every 
feature ;  the  expression  was  one  of  hopeless  misery,  and  a 
something  there  was  which  made  the  heart  ache,  yet  the 
haughty  glance  of  other  days  might  still  be  seen. 

“  Mary,  look  at  me  1  ” 

“  Well,  Florry,  I  have  looked  at  you,  and  sad  enough  it 
makes  me  feel.” 

“  I  am  changed  Mary,  strangely  changed,  am  I  not  ? 
Answer  me  truly.” 

“Yes,  you  look  weary  and  ill;  but  why  do  you  ask  me 
such  a  question  ?  You  have  had  cause  to  look  pale.” 

“  Ah  1  you  say  truly  ;  but,  Mary,  have  you  never  suspected 
that  a  secret  grief  was  freezing  the  life-blood  in  my  cheeks  ?  ” 

“  Florry,  what  do  you  mean  ?  I  am  afraid  you  are 
feverish  l  ”  and  Mary  laid  her  hand  anxiously  on  her  cousin’s. 
It  was  flung  contemptuously  off. 

“  Mary,  listen  to  what  I  have  to  say.  I  am  in  a  strange 
mood  to-night,  and  you  must  not  contradict  me.  Where 
shall  I  begin  ?  When  my  mother  died  I  was  four  years  old, 
they  say,  and  a  very  delicate  child.  My  mother  1  how 
strange  it  sounds.  Yet  I  can  at  times  faintly  remember  her 
beautiful  face.  Very  faintly,  as  in  a  dream,  I  have  seen  an 
angel  visitant.  My  mother,  why  did  you  leave  your  hapless 
babe  ?  Oh !  why  ?  my  mother  1  I  was  left  much  to  myself, 
and  followed  unrestrained  my  own  inclinations.  You  know 
my  fondness  for  books  ;  that  fondness  was  imbibed  in  girl¬ 
hood,  as  I  wandered  in  my  own  sunny  home — my  lost  home. 
My  father  taught  me  to  conceal  my  emotions — to  keep  down 
the  rising  sob,  to  force  back  the  glittering  tear  ;  and  when  I 
smiled  over  some  childish  grief,  applauded  my  stoicism.  I  be¬ 
came  unnatural,  cold,  haughty,  but  not  unfeeling.  I  remem¬ 
ber  well  how  your  pale  face  and  mourning  dress  touched  my 
heart,  and  waked  my  sympathies.  From  that  hour  I  lavished 
my  love  on  my  father  and  yourself.  Years  passed  and  we 
went  to  New  Orleans — ”  Here  Florence  paused,  and 
closed  her  eyes  for  a  moment,  but  quickly  resumed — “  You 
know  how  I  studied.  Mary,  was  it  merely  from  love  of 
metaphysics  and  philosophy,  think  you?  No.  not  Mr. 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


55 

Stewart’s  look  of  surprise  and  pleasure  as,  one  by  one,  I 
mastered  various  intricacies,  was  the  meed  for  which  I 
toiled.  Mary,  from  the  first  day  we  met,  I  loved  him,  for 
his  was  a  master  spirit.  I  worshiped  him  in  my  inmost 
soul,  and  he  loved  me  in  return.  I  know — I  feel  that  he 
did.  Yet  he  was  even  prouder  than  myself,  and  would 
have  scorned  to  speak  of  love  to  one  who  never  smiled  in 
his  presence.  Oh  1  often  when  he  stood  beside  my  desk 
giving  instruction,  my  heart  has  sprung  to  him.  I  have 
longed  to  hear  the  words  of  tenderness  that  welled  up  from 
his  heart,  but  scorned  to  tremble  on  his  lips.  No  look  of 
love  ever  fell  on  me.  His  glance  was  cold  and  haughty. 
Oh,  how  inconsistent  is  woman  I  I  yearned  for  his  love ; 
yet,  had  he  tendered  it,  under  my  haughtiness  would  have 
dropped  my  idol — have  shivered  it  at  my  feet.  Weeks 
passed,  and  while  near  him  I  knew  no  sorrow;  but  the 
morning  of  my  life  was  destined  to  be  short.  The  cloud  that 
had  lowered  on  the  horizon  suddenly  darkened  around. 
That  never-to-be-forgotten  letter  came,  and  I  saw  a  great 
gulf  open  at  my  feet.  An  invisible  hand  placed  Dudley 
Stewart  on  one  brink,  and  I  was  left  upon  the  other ;  and 
an  unknown  messenger  thundered  the  decree  of  separation 
— 4  Forget  the  past  and  live  again  in  the  future  ! 9  I  started 
as  from  a  frightful  dream.  The  cold  reality  forced  itself 
upon  me.  Mary,  a  suspicion  stole  into  my  heart,  and  stung 
me.  I  thought  for  a  brief  time  that  Mr.  Stewart  loved  you, 
and  whose  hand  may  register  the  darkened  thoughts  that 
crowded  bitterly  up  ?  The  morning  we  left  New  Orleans, 
I  went  into  the  schoolroom  for  our  books.  Ah  I  who  may 
know  the  agony  of  that  hour  !  I  sat  down  in  his  chair,  and 
laid  my  head  on  his  desk,  and  groaned  in  mine  anguish  of 
spirit.  Oh  1  Mary,  that  was  the  blackest,  bitterest  hour  of 
my  life.  I  had  fancied  he  loved  me  :  I  feared  I  was  de¬ 
ceived ;  I  hated — despised  myself  for  my  weakness.  Yeti 
could  not  reproach  him  ;  he  had  never  sought  my  love. 

“  I  had  just  risen  from  his  desk  when  Mr.  Stewart  came 
in.  He  did  not  seem  to  see  me,  but  took  a  seat  near  the 
door.  I  was  well-nigh  exhausted,  but  strove  to  appear  as 
cold  and  indifferent  as  ever.  I  gathered  up  my  books  and 
turned  to  go,  then  he  laid  down  his  pen,  and  came  to  me, 

“  ‘  I  believe  you  and  your  cousin  leave  to-day  ? 1 


5& 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


44 4  Yes.  in  this  evening’s  boat,’  I  answered,  much  as 
usual. 

44  4 1  wish  you  a  safe  and  pleasant  voyage.  My  kindest 
adieux  to  your  cousin.  Good-by,  Miss  Hamilton.’ 

44  He  held  out  his  hand.  I  said  4  good-by  ’  as  clearly  and 
coldly  as  himself.  Our  hands  met  but  an  instant:  there 
was  no  pressure — no  warmth,  and  then  he  opened  the  door 
for  me  to  pass.  As  he  did  so  our  eyes  met ;  his  glance  was 
calm  and  cold,  but  his  lips  were  firmly  compressed.  Had 
he  looked  sad,  mournful,  or  tender,  I  should  have  passed 
out  and  triumphed  ;  but  my  overtasked  strength  gave  way ; 
a  cold  shudder  crept  through  my  frame,  and  consciousness 
forsook  me.  I  never  fainted  before  or  since.  When  I  re* 
vived,  I  raised  my  head  and  looked  about  me.  I  was  re¬ 
clining  on  a  couch ;  he  kneeling  beside  me,  calmly,  as  he 
would  have  stood  in  class.  He  held  my  hand,  and  pressed 
it  warmly. 

44  4  Are  you  better  now,  Florence  ?  ’ 

4  4  4  Oh,  yes,  .thank  you,’  I  said,  and  rose  to  my  feet. 

44  He  still  held  my  hand.  I  withdrew  it,  and  turned  to 
the  door.  He  placed  himself  before  it,  and  said — 4  Florence, 
it  was  well  done  ;  you  are  an  admirable  dissembler,  but  I 
am  not  deceived.  You  love  me,  and  have  for  long,  yet  I 
freely  acknowledge  your  love  can  never  exceed  my  own.  I 
love  you  better  than  my  life,  though  perfectly  aware  that  we 
are  now  parted  forever.  I  am  a  poor  tutor,  dependent  on 
my  daily  exertions  for  subsistence ;  you  the  cherished 
daughter  of  a  wealthy  and  ambitious  parent.’ 

44  He  drew  me  to  him,  and  imprinted  a  long  kiss  on  my 
lips  ;  then  put  me  gently  back,  and  left  the  room. 

44  I  never  saw  him  again,  but  did  I  doubt  his  love?  No, 
no  !  I  would  sooner  doubt  my  own  existence.  We  em¬ 
barked,  as  you  know,  in  the  evening.  That  night  was  beauti¬ 
ful — just  such  a  one  as  this — serene  and  heavenly.  I  stole 
out  on  deck  when  others  slumbered,  and  for  a  long  weary 
hour  paced  to  and  fro.  There  was  a  wild  tumult  in  my  soul 
which  would  not  be  stilled,  and  every  restraining  effort  but 
fanned  the  flame  that  raged  within.  A  never-to-be-forgotten 
contest  was  waged  that  night,  and  my  heart  was  the  arena. 
My  guardian  angel  whispered  low,  4  Forget  the  past  as  a 
feverish  dream  ;  it  is  not  well  for  thee ;  forget,  forget  1  ’  But 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO  57 

the  heaven-born  accents  were  suddenly  drowned  by  the 
wild  shriek  of  my  dark  destiny — ‘Of  Lethe’s  waters  thou 
shalt  never  taste !  I  have  shattered  the  goblet  at  thy  feet,  and 
scattered  the  draught  to  the  winds  of  heaven  !  Behold  the 
apotheosis  of  thine  idol  I  At  this  shrine  shalt  thou  bow  ever¬ 
more — evermore  !  ’ 

“  A  new  impulse  was  implanted  within  me  ;  and,  impo¬ 
tent  to  resist,  I  was  impelled  onward,  and  onward,  till  a 
chasm  yawned  at  my  feet.  Yet  a  moment  I  trembled  on  the 
brink,  then  plunged  desperately  forward.  Mary,  listen.  I 
knelt  on  the  damp,  glistening  deck,  and  implored  Almighty 
God  to  register  my  words  in  heaven.  In  his  awful  name 
and  presence,  I  solemnly  swore  to  love  Dudley  Stewart 
alone — to  be  his  wife,  or  go  down  to  the  tomb  as  Florence 
Hamilton.  I  rose  up  calm — the  fierce  warring  was  stilled. 
Yet  it  was  not  inward  peace  that  succeeded.  My  fate  was 
sealed — the  last  page  of  destiny  transcribed. 

“  Time  passed  on,  oblivious  of  the  darkened  hours  it  bore 
on  its  broad  bosom.  Mary,  I  have  watched  for  one  loved 
form,  and  listened  for  that  calm,  proud  step.  I  have  loved, 
and  trusted,  and  believed  that  we  should  meet  again.  De¬ 
luded  Florence !  a  period  is  put  to  thy  hopes  and  fears  l 
Mary,  he  is  married !  All  is  over  for  me.  The  dull,  heavy 
weight  resting  upon  my  heart  will  soon  crush  out  the  life 
spark,  and  lay  low  my  proud  head.  Ah  1  my  cousin,  you 
weep.  I  wish  that  I  could ;  but  tears  have  been  too  often 
scornfully  repulsed  ;  they  come  not  now  at  my  call.  Oh, 
Mary,  I  am  weary,  weary !  I  long  for  rest,  even  the  rest 
of  the  dark,  still  tomb !  I  have  no  hope — no  wish.  I  am 
passive  now.  At  last  nature  has  broken  the  bonds  so  long 
forced  upon  her,  and  the  reaction  is  strong  indeed.  You 
ask  how  I  received  my  information  :  ah !  you  need  not  doubt 
its  authenticity.  Aunt  Lizzy  and  his  mother  were  old  friends, 
and  she  received  a  letter  the  day  before  my  father  died,  an¬ 
nouncing  his  approaching  union  with  a  beautiful  cousin  !  I 
am  deservedly  punished :  I  worshiped  the  creature  and  for¬ 
got  the  God.  I  needed  a  desperate  remedy,  and  it  is  ad¬ 
ministered.” 

As  Florence  concluded  she  leaned  heavily  against  a  tree, 
and  raised  her  eyes  to  the  jeweled  vault  above.  Just  then  a 
dense  black  cloud,  which  had  floated  up  from  the  west,  passed 


JNEZ :  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


5* 

directly  over  the  moon,  obscuring  the  silvery  rays.  She 
pointed  to  it,  and  said,  in  a  low,  mournful  voice — “  How 
typical  of  my  life  and  heart  ;  shut  out  from  joy  and  hope  in 
one  brief  hour,  unlike  it  ever  to  be  brightened  again.” 

“  Oh  I  Florry,  dear  Florry !  turn  to  God  for  comfort  and 
succor  in  this  hour  of  need.  He  will  enable  you  to  bear 
this  trial,  and  go  steadily  on  in  the  path  of  duty.” 

“  Mary,  I  have  no  incitement  to  exertion  ;  nothing  to 
anticipate.  My  future  is  blank  and  dreary.  I  know  my  lot 
in  life  ;  I  have  nothing  to  hope  for.” 

“  Not  so,  Florry.  Your  future  life  will  be  an  active  one. 
Are  we  not  dependent  on  our  exertions  for  subsistence  ?  and 
does  not  our  little  school  open  to-morrow  ?  Cheer  up,  dar¬ 
ling  !  all  may  yet  be  bright.  Bury  the  painful  remembrances 
of  the  past ;  believe  me,  peace,  if  not  joyousness,  will  surely 
follow  the  discharge  of  your  duties.” 

“  I  cannot  forget  the  past.  Had  he  sought  my  love,  I 
could  scorn  him  for  his  baseness  ;  but  it  is  not  so.  I  almost 
wish  it  were.  Yet  I  know  and  feel  that  he  loves  me ;  and 
oblivion  of  the  past  is  as  impossible  for  him  as  myself.  I 
know  not  what  strange  impulse  has  induced  me  to  tell  you 
all  this.  I  did  it  half  unconsciously,  hoping  for  relief  by 
revealing  that  which  has  pressed  so  heavily  on  my  heart. 
Mary,  never  speak  to  me  of  it  again  ;  and,  above  all,  do  not 
mention  his  name.  It  has  passed  my  lips  for  the  last  time, 
and  all  shall  be  locked  again  within  my  own  heart.  We  will 
open  the  school  to-morrow ;  and  may  God  help  me,  Mary, 
pray,  oh,  pray  for  me  !  I  had  no  mother  to  teach  me,  and 
prayer  is  a  stranger  to  my  lips.” 

She  walked  hurriedly  to  the  house,  and  shut  herself  with¬ 
in  her  own  apartment. 


ss 


±NEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


\ 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

*  Freedom  calls  you  !  Quick !  be  ready  j 
Think  of  what  your  sires  have  been  : 

Onward !  onwara  !  strong  and  steady, 

Drive  the  tyrant  to  his  den." 

Percival. 

How  intoxicating  is  the  love  of  power ;  and  how  madly 
the  votaries  of  ambition  whirl  to  the  vortex  of  that  moral 
Corbrechtan,  which  has  ingulfed  so  many  hapless  victims. 
Our  own  noble  Washington  stands  forth  a  bright  beacon  to 
warn  every  ruler,  civil  or  military,  of  the  thundering  whirl¬ 
pool.  Father  of  your  country  I  you  stand  alone  on  the 
pedestal  of  greatness ;  and  slowly  rolling  years  shall  pour 
their  waters  into  the  boundless  deep  of  eternity  ere  another 
shall  be  placed  beside  you. 

When  Iturbide  attempted  to  free  his  oppressed  country- 
men  from  the  crushing  yoke  of  Spanish  thraldom,  Liberty 
was  the  watchword.  Success  crowned  his  efforts — sov¬ 
ereign  power  lay  before  him.  He  grasped  it,  and  made  him¬ 
self  a  despot.  Ambition  hurled  him  from  the  throne  of  the 
Montezumas,  and  laid  his  proud  head  1 3w.  A  new  star  rose 
on  the  stormy  horizon  of  the  west ;  pure  and  softly  fell  the 
rays  on  the  troubled  thousands  round.  The  voice  of  the 
new-comer  said  “  Peace,”  and  the  wild  tumult  subsided. 
Ten  years  passed ;  Santa  Anna  culminated.  The  gentle 
tones  of  the  arch-deceiver  were  metamorphosed  into  the 
tiger’s  growl,  the  constitution  of  1824  subverted  in  a  day* 
and  he  ruled  in  the  room  of  the  lost  Iturbide. 


•  •  •  •  <*  * 

The  Alamo  was  garrisoned.  Dark  bodies  of  Mexican 
troops  moved  heavily  to  and  fro,  and  cannon  bristled  from 
the  embrasures.  The  usually  quiet  town  was  met  am  or* 
phosed  into  a  scene  of  riot  and  clamor,  and  fandangos,  at 
which  Bacchus  rather  than  Terpsichore  presided,  often 


6o 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 


welcomed  the  new-born  day.  The  few  Americans  *  in  San 
Antonio  viewed  with  darkened  brows  the  insolent  cavaliers. 
The  gauntlet  was  flung  down — there  was  no  retraction,  no 
retreat.  They  knew  that  it  was  so,  and  girded  themselves 
for  a  desperate  conflict. 

The  declaration  of  independence  was  enthusiastically 
hailed  by  the  brave-hearted  Texans,  as  they  sprang  with  one 
impulse  to  support  the  new-born  banner,  that  floated  so 
majestically  over  the  sunny  prciries  of  their  western  home. 
Mechanic,  statesman,  plowboy,  poet,  pressed  forward  to  the 
ranks,  emulous  of  priority  alone.  A  small,  but  intrepid 
band,  they  defied  the  tyrant  who  had  subverted  the  liberties 
of  his  country ;  defied  Santa  Anna  and  his  fierce  legions, 
and  spurned  the  iron  yoke  which  the  priests  of  Mexico 
vainly  strove  to  plant  upon  their  necks.  Liberty,  civil  and 
religious,  was  the  watchword,  and  desperately  they  must 
struggle  in  the  coming  strife. 

Manuel  Nevarro  had  eagerly  enlisted  in  the  Mexican 
ranks,  and  in  a  few  weeks  after  General  Cos’s  arrival, 
donned  his  uniform.  Thus  accoutered,  he  presented  himself, 
for  the  first  time  since  their  disagreement,  before  Inez,  who 
had  but  recently  returned  from  San  Jose,  doubting  not  that 
her  admiration  of  his  new  dress  would  extend  to  him  who 
filled  it.  In  truth,  his  was  a  fine  form  and  handsome  face  ; 
yet  sordid  selfishness,  and,  in  common  parlance,  “  a  deter¬ 
mination  to  have  his  own  way,”  were  indelibly  stamped  upon 
his  countenance. 

Inez  was  busily  preparing  the  evening  meal  when  he 
entered ;  and  though  perfectly  aware  of  his  presence,  gave 
no  indication  of  it.  He  stood  aside  and  watched  her  move¬ 
ments,  as  she  shaped  and  turned  the  tortillas.  Presently 
she  began  to  sing 

“  He  quits  his  mule,  and  mounts  his  horse, 

And  through  the  streets  directs  his  course — 

Through  the  streets  of  Gacatin, 

To  the  Alhambra  spurring  in, 

Wo  is  me,  Alhama. 


*  It  doubtless  appears  absurd  to  confine  the  title  of  “Americans  ”  to 
the  few  citizens  of  the  United  States  who  emigrated  to  Texas,  when  all 
who  inhabit  the  continent  are  equally  entitled  to  the  appellation.  Yet 
the  distinction  is  Mexican  ;  “  Los  Americanos  ”  being  the  name  amolied 
to  all  who  are  not  of  Spanish  descent 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO,  61 

il  And  when  the  hollow  drums  of  war 
Beat  the  loud  alarm  afar, 

That  the  Moors  of  town  and  plain 
Might  answer  to  the  martial  strain, 

Wo  is  me,  Alhama. 

As  the  mournful  cadence  died  away,  she  turned,  and 
started  with  well-feigned  surprise  on  meeting  the  piercing 
glance  fixed  upon  her. 

“  Ah,  Manuel  1  ”  She  held  out  both  hands,  with  a  most 
amicable  expression  of  countenance.  He  grasped  them, 
and  would  have  kissed  her  beautiful  lips,  but  she  slipped 
adroitly  to  one  side — “  No,  no !  Manuel.  I’ll  not  permit 
that  till  I  am  Senora  Nevarro.” 

“  And  when  will  that  be,  Sehorita  ?  ” 

“  Not  till  the  war  is  over.” 

“  But  it  has  not  begun  yet ;  and  it  will  be  many  moons 
before  we  whip  these  cursed  Americanos.” 

“  How  many,  think  you,  Manuel  ?  ” 

“  I  can’t  tell,  Inez  ;  therefore  we  will  not  wait  till  the  war 
is  over.  The  Padre  is  ready  any  time,  and  why  not  marry 
at  once  ?  ” 

“  Sacra  Dios  1  I’ll  do  no  such  thing.” 

“  And  why  not,  Inez  ?  ” 

“  Because  they  might  kill  you,  Manuel,  and  then  what 
would  become  of  me  ?  ” 

“  You  would  be  as  well  off  then  as  now ;  there  would  be 
no  difference,  only  you  would  be  married.  You  will  mourn, 
any  how,  if  I  am  killed.” 

“  How  do  you  know  I  would  ?  ”  Her  Spanish  eyes 
twinkled  as  she  spoke;  but  for  fear  of  going  too  far,  she 
laid  her  hand  on  his  shoulder.  Manuel  turned  sharply 
round. 

“  You  deserve  to  be  shot,  Manuel,  for  joining  in  a  miff. 
Why  didn’t  you  tell  me  you  were  going  to  be  a  soldier  ?  ” 

He  grasped  her  hand  tighter,  but  made  no  reply. 

“  I  say,  why  did  not  you  tell  me  first  ?  ” 

“  And  if  I  had  told  you,  what  then  ?  ” 

“  Why,  I  should  not  have  let  you  do  it,  you  savage.  If 
you  had  only  asked  me,  I  might  be  willing  to  marry  you 
next  week.  But  as  it  is,  I  am  not  going  to  be  left  a  widow, 
I  can  tell  you,” 


€2 


I 


d'JEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAI/LG . 

“  Inez,  I  don’t  believe  you  care  whether  I  am  killed  or 
not  I  do  not  understand  you  at  all.” 

The  girl’s  eyes  filled,  and  her  lip  quivered  with  emotion. 
“  Manuel  do  you  think  me  a  brute  ?  There  is  nobody  to 
love  Inez  but  her  father  and  you.  I  am  not  cold-hearted.” 

“  You  speak  truth,  Inez  ;  and  my  uncle  will  not  live  very 
long,  for  he  has  seen  many  years.  When  he  is  gone,  there 
will  be  nobody  to  take  care  of  you  but  me  ;  so  the  sooner 
we  are  married  the  better.” 

“  Not  so.  You  must  come  and  see  us  as  often  as  you 
can  till  the  war  is  over  ;  but  I  will  marry  no  one  now.” 

“  Will  you  promise  it  shall  be  as  soon  as  the  war  is  over  ?  ’* 

Inez  coquettishly  tossed  her  beautiful  head,  and  advancing 
to  the  fire,  gaily  exclaimed — “  While  we  talked  the  tortillas 
burned.  Come,  eat  some  supper.  I  know  they  are  as  good 
as  those  you  get  at  the  Alamo.” 

Manuel  seated  himself  on  a  buffalo-robe,  and  while  par¬ 
taking  of  the  evening  meal,  Inez  chatted  away  on  indifferent 
subjects,  asking,  during  the  conversation,  what  news  had 
been  received  from  the  Texan  army. 

“  We  got  news  to-day  that  they  are  marching  down  to 
Gonzales,  but  I  am  thinking  they  will  find  hot  work.” 

“  How  many  men  may  we  number,  Manuel,  and  think  you 
the  chances  are  for  us  ?  ” 

“  By  the  blessed  Virgin,  if  we  were  not  ten  to  five  Manuel 
Nevarro  would  not  eat  his  tortilla  in  peace.  The  Captain 
says  we  will  scatter  them  like  pecans  in  a  high  wind.” 

“  What  bone  is  there  to  fight  for  at  Gonzales  ?  ” 

“  Cannon,  Inez,  cannon.  Don’t  you  know  we  sent  a 
thousand  men  to  bring  it  here,  and  the  white  rascal  sent 
five  hundred  to  keep  it  there.  By  the  Virgin,  we  will  see 
who  gets  it !  ” 

“  Holy  Mother  protect  us !  Manuel,  take  care  of  your¬ 
self,  man,  and  rush  not  into  danger.  It  will  profit  you  little 
that  we  have  many  men,  if  some  strong  arm  tells  your  length 
on  the  sward.” 

“  Never  fear,  Inez — never  fear.  We  must  not  stop  till 
every  American  turns  his  back  on  the  Alamo,  and  his  face 
to  the  East.” 

“  But  you  will  not  harm  those  that  live  here  in  peace  with 
all  men  ?  ” 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 


63 

“  The  Padre  told  our  General,  yesterday,  that  we  must 
fight  till  all  submitted,  or  the  last  American  child  was  driven 
to  the  far  bank  of  the  Sabine.” 

Inez  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm,  and  looking  him  full  in 
the  face,  asked,  in  a  low  tone — “  Manuel,  would  you  help  to 
drive  Mary  from  her  home  among  us  ?  She  who  nursed  me 
in  sickness,  and  bound  the  white  bread  to  your  bleeding 
arm,  and  made  the  tea  for  my  dying  mother,  when  none 
other  came  to  help  ?  Manuel !  Manuel !  she  is  alone  in  the 
world,  with  only  her  cousin.  Spare  Mary  in  her  little  home ; 
she  hurts  none,  but  makes  many  to  die  in  peace.” 

Manuel's  face  softened  somewhat,  but  he  replied  in  the 
same  determined  tone — “  The  Padre  says  she  is  an  accursed 
heretic,  and  he  will  not  rest  till  she  is  far  away.  But  I  tell 
you  now,  Inez,  she  will  not  be  harmed ;  for  he  said  he  would 
see  that  she  was  protected,  and  would  himself  take  her  to  a 
place  of  safety.  He  said  she  had  been  kind  to  our  people,  and 
none  should  molest  her  or  her  cousin  ;  but  leave  all  to  him.” 

“  If  the  Padre  promised,  he  will  place  them  in  safety ;  he 
never  forgets  to  do  what  he  says.  I  am  satisfied,  Manuel ; 
and  for  the  rest  of  the  Americans,  the  sooner  they  are 
driven  out  the  better.” 

“  You  say  truly,  Inez,  the  sooner  the  better:  all,  all  shall 
go,  even  their  Doctor,  that  carries  himself  with  such  a  lordly 
air,  and  sits  in  saddle  as  though  never  man  had  horse  be¬ 
fore.  But  the  moon  is  up ;  I  must  return,  for  I  watch 
to-night,  and  must  be  back  in  time.”  He  put  on  his  hat  as 
he  spoke. 

“  Manuel,  come  as  often  as  you  can,  and  let  me  know 
what  is  going  on.  You  are  the  only  one  whose  word  I  be¬ 
lieve  ;  there  are  so  many  strange  tales  nowadays,  I  put 
little  faith  in  any.  And  before  you  go,  put  this  crucifix 
about  your  neck:  ’twill  save  you  in  time  of  danger,  and 
think  of  Inez  when  you  see  it.”  She  undid  the  fastening 
which  held  it  round  her  own  throat,  and  pressing  it  to  her 
lips,  laid  it  in  his  hand. 

Astonished  at  a  proof  of  tenderness  so  unexpected,  Man¬ 
uel  caught  her  in  his  arms,  but  disengaging  herself,  she 
shook  her  finger  threateningly  at  him,  and  pointed  to  the 
door.  He  lighted  his  cigarrita,  and  promising  to  come 
often,  returned  to  the  Alamo. 


6* 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


Left  alone,  the  Spanish  maiden  sought  her  own  apart¬ 
ment,  muttering  as  she  ascended  the  steps — “  The  Padre 
protect  you,  Mary  !  Yes,  even  as  the  hawk  the  new  chicken. 
Take  thee  to  a  place  of  safety  !  even  as  the  eagle  bears  the 
young  lamb  to  his  eyrie.  Yes,  Manuel,  I  have  bound  the 
handkerchief  about  your  eyes,  You  think  I  love  you,  and 
trust  both  Padre  and  crucifix !  Trust  on,  I  too  have  been 
deceived.” 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

More  like  somnambulism  than  waking  reality  was  now 
the  life  of  Florence  Hamilton.  No  duty  was  unperformed, 
no  exertion  spared  to  conduce  to  the  comfort  of  the  now 
diminished  family  circle.  No  words  of  repining  or  regret 
were  uttered — no  tear  dimmed  the  large  dark  eyes.  She 
moved  and  lived  as  it  were  mechanically,  without  the 
agency  of  feeling  or  sympathy  ;  yet  though  she  obtruded 
her  grief  on  none,  it  was  equally  true  that  no  gleam  of  re¬ 
turning  cheerfulness  ever  lightened  the  gloom  which  envel¬ 
oped  her.  A  something  there  was  in  the  hopeless,  joyless 
expression  of  her  beautiful  face,  which  made  the  heart 
ache  ;  yet  none  offered  sympathy,  or  strove  to  console  her, 
for  she  seemed  unapproachable,  with  the  cold,  haughty 
glance  of  other  days.  Painfully  perceptible  was  the  differ¬ 
ence  between  Christian  fortitude  and  perfect  hopelessness — 
gentle,  humble  resignation  and  despair.  There  was  no 
peace  in  her  soul,  for  her  future  was  shrouded  in  gloom  : 
she  had  no  joys  in  anticipation.  The  sun  of  hope  had  set 
forever  to  her  vision,  and  she  lived  and  bore  her  grief  like 
one  who  had  counted  the  cost,  and  knew  that  for  a  little 
while  longer  she  must  struggle  on  ;  and  that  oblivion  of  the 
past  was  dispensed  only  by  the  angel  of  death.  She  ac¬ 
quiesced  in  Mary’s  plan  of  opening  a  small  school,  and 
unfalteringly  performed  her  allotted  task  as  assistant  teacher. 
Unexpected  success  had  crowned  their  efforts,  and  fifteen 
pupils  daily  assembled  in  the  room  set  apart  for  the  purpose. 
Mary  had  feared  opposition  on  the  part  of  the  p*dre,  and 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO .  65 

was  agreeably  surprised  at  the  number  of  Catholic  children 
committed  to  her  care. 

One  morning  early  in  October,  having  finished  her  house¬ 
hold  duties,  she  repaired  to  the  schoolroom  for  the  day. 
Florence  was  already  at  her  post,  though  suffering  from 
violent  nervous  headache.  Mary  seated  herself  with  her 
back  to  the  door,  and  called  one  of  her  classes.  Arithmetic 
it  proved  ;  and  if  the  spirits  of  the  departed  were  ever  al¬ 
lowed  to  return  in  vindication  of  their  works,  the  ghost  of 
Pythagoras  would  certainly  have  disturbed  the  equanimity 
of  the  “  muchachos,”  who  so  obstinately  refused  the  assist¬ 
ance  and  co-operation  of  his  rules  and  tables.  In  vain  she 
strove  to  impress  on  one  that  2  from  8  left  6.  Like  the 
little  girl  that  Wordsworth  met,  he  persisted  “  it  was  seven.” 
Despairing  at  last,  she  remanded  the  class  to  their  seats. 
Anxious  to  facilitate  the  progress  of  her  pupils,  Mary  spared 
no  pains  to  make  perspicuous  what  to  them  appeared  ob¬ 
scure.  The  little  savages  could  not,  or  would  net  under¬ 
stand  that  the  earth  was  like  a  ball,  and  not  only  turned 
upon  its  own  axis,  but  made  the  entire  circumference  of  the 
sun.  A  pair  of  globes  could  not  be  procured,  and  she  taxed 
her  ingenuity  for  a  substitute.  Selecting  two  apples,  one 
enormous,  the  other  medium  size,  she  carefully  introduced 
a  reed  through  the  center  of  the  smaller  apple,  thus  causing 
it  to  revolve  on  its  axis.  Calling  up  the  tyros  in  geography, 
she  took  the  smallest,  or  “  Earth,”  as  she  designated  it,  and 
while  causing  it  to  perform  the  diurnal  motion,  she  carried 
it  slowly  round  the  larger,  or  “  Sun,”  as  she  termed  it ;  thus 
illustrating  the  combined  movements  of  our  globe.  Even 
the  dullest  could  not  fail  to  comprehend;  and  well  satisfied 
with  the  result  of  her  experiment,  she  carefully  put  her 
planets  by  in  one  corner  of  the  schoolroom,  and  proceeded 
with  her  questions.  The  imperfect  recitation  finished,  Mary 
glanced  across  the  room,  hoping  her  cousin’s  patience  was 
not  so  tried,  and  some  brilliant  coruscations  in  that  direction 
fixed  her  attention.  Florence  had  dropped  her  aching  head 
on  the  desk  in  front,  shading  her  eyes  with  her  hand  ;  before 
her,  in  dark  array,  stood  some  half  dozen  small  boys  just 
beginning  to  spell.  Each  held  a  book  containing  illustra¬ 
tions  of  various  well-known  articles  and  animals,  having  the 
name  beneath. 

5 


66 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


“  XJ-r-n— teapot.  ”  Elliot  Carlton,  whose  seat  was  near, 
gave  a  suppressed  giggle.  Florence  looked  around  inquir¬ 
ingly,  then  dropt  her  head  again  on  her  hand,  bidding  the 
boy  “  spell  on.” 

“  S-t-a-g — goat.”  Elliot  crammed  his  handkerchief 

into  his  mouth,  and  Mary  smiled. 

“  W-i--g — curly  head.”  Florence  was  effectually  roused 
this  time  by  a  shout  of  laughter  from  Elliot,  in  which  he 
was  joined  by  Mary,  and  Dr.  Bryant,  who  had  just  entered 
and  was  standing  in  such  a  position  that  no  one  had  per¬ 
ceived  him. 

“  Really,  Miss  Hamilton,  I  must  congratulate  you  on  the 
extraordinary  progress  your  pupils  make ;  I  was  not  aware 
that  you  cultivated  their  powers  of  comparison  in  connection 
with  the  .rudiments  of  orthoepy.” 

“  To  what  do  you  allude,  Doctor  ;  I  am  scarcely  conscious 
of  what  passes  around  me  this  morning,”  said  Florence, 
wearily  pressing  her  hand  across  her  aching  brow. 

“  I  am  not  surprised  that  you  are  somewhat  stunned, 
though,  after  all,”  he  continued,  pointing  to  the  picture  of  a 
ringleted  pate,  “  the  little  fellow  was  not  far  wrong,  for  this 
wig  is  incontestibly  a  curly  head.” 

With  a  faint  smile,  which  passed  as  quickly  as  it  came, 
she  dismissed  the  class  with  an  additional  lesson. 

“  I  am  sorry  to  see  you  suffering  so  much  this  morning,” 
said  Frank,  seating  himself  beside  her :  “  and  should  cer¬ 
tainly  not  recommend  this  schoolroom  as  an  antidote  to  nerv¬ 
ous  attacks.  Miss  Mary,  why  do  you  allow  your  cousin 
to  overtax  her  strength  ?  However,  I  bring  you  good  news. 
We  have  had  an  engagement  at  Gonzales,  and,  thank 
Heaven,  are  victorious.  The  brave  five  hundred  sent  to 
preserve  the  field-piece  there,  encountered  double  their  num¬ 
ber  of  the  enemy,  and  not  only  saved  the  cannon,  but  scat¬ 
tered  the  Mexicans  in  all  directions.  Our  brave  band  are 
marching  to  Goliad,  where  they  expect  to  supply  themselves 
and  comrades  with  ammunition ;  they  have  probably  taken 
the  magazine  before  this,  and  are  returning.” 

“  Thank  Heaven  we  have  triumphed  !  ”  cried  Mary,  fer¬ 
vently  clasping  her  hands  ;  “  but  oh !  if  the  tide  should  turn 
this  way,  what  will  become  of  us  ?  The  Mexicans  are 
numerous  here,  and  the  Alamo  strongly  fortified  and  in 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO.  6j 

their  possession.”  She  turned  her  eyes  inquiringly  on 
Frank,  and  started  as  she  met  the  earnest,  searching  ex¬ 
pression  of  his,  bent  full  upon  her  face. 

“  How  pale  you  have  grown  of  late,”  he  murmured  as  to 
himself,  and  replied  to  her  questioning  glance — “  I  think, 
myself,  there  is  much  danger  incurred  by  remaining  here ; 
but  rest  assured  you  shall  not  be  harmed.  I  am  watching  - 
the  signs  of  the  times,  and  will  warn  you  should  peril  ap¬ 
proach.” 

He  took  Florence’s  hand,  and  pressed  it  as  he  spoke ; 
then  turning  to  Mary,  who  had  walked  away,  he  said — “  I 
must  insist  on  your  cousin  having  rest ;  she  is  weary  and 
too  much  excited,  and  you,  who  are  a  good  nurse,  must  take 
better  care  of  her.” 

“  Indeed,  Doctor,  I  did  my  best  to  prevent  her  teaching 
to-day,  but  she  would  not  listen  to  my  entreaties,”  replied 
Mary,  with  averted  head. 

“  If  I  might  venture  to  advise  yourself  and  cousin,  Miss 
Hamilton,  I  should  suggest  the  discontinuance  of  your 
school,  at  least  for  the  present ;  for  in  these  stormy  times 
one  scarce  knows  what  a  day  may  bring  forth :  and,  indeed, 
your  pupils  are  dropping  off  within  the  last  few  days,  and 
you  had  better  disband  voluntarily.” 

“  I  believe  you  are  right,  Doctor ;  and  if  Mary  concurs 
with  us,  I  think  we  will  follow  your  advice.” 

“  Do  as  you  think  best,  Florry ;  I  suppose  we  would  have 
no  pupils  soon,  even  if  we  continued  our  efforts ;  yet  I  dis¬ 
like  very  much  to  give  up  the  school  so  very  soon.”  Her 
voice  faltered  slightly,  and  her  cheek  grew  paler. 

“Your  reluctance  to  dismiss  these  children,  I  am  not  sur¬ 
prised  at ;  and  if  it  will  relieve  you  in  the  least,  allow  me  to 
see  their  parents,  and  arrange  all  pecuniary  matters.  You 
certainly  feel  no  hesitation  in  confiding  this  to  me.” 

“  Thank  you,  Dr.  Bryant,  you  are  very  kind ;  but  we  will 
not  burden  you  with  an  additional  trouble.  I  prefer  taking 
these  children  home  to  their  parents,  who  committed  them 
to  my  care ;  and  as  you  and  Florry  think  it  advisable,  we 
will  close  our  school  this  evening.  Believe  me,  however, 
that  in  refusing  your  kind  offer,  I  am  not  insensible  to,  but 
appreciate  fully  the  motives  which  dictated  it.” 

“  Feel  no  hesitation  in  calling  on  me  to  perform  any  of 


68 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


the  many  services  a  gentleman  friend  may  so  often  render. 
If  you  knew  how  gladly  I  would  serve  you,  I  am  sure  you 
would  not  fail  to  do  so/’ 

Shaking  hands  with  Florence  who  stood  near,  he  turned 
to  go,  but  paused  at  the  threshold. 

At  this  moment  a  slight  disturbance  in  a  distant  corner  of 
the  room  attracted  their  attention,  and  springing  forward, 
little  Maria  Carlton  exclaimed — “  Oh,  Miss  Mary,  what  do 
you  think  ?  Somebody  has  eat  up  the  world,  and  bit  a  great 
big  piece  out  of  the  sun  !  ” 

When  the  merriment  this  excited  had  in  some  degree 
subsided,  Dr.  Bryant  laughingly  said — “  I  am  much  afraid 
you  have  a  Polyphemus  among  your  pupils.  Miss  Mary,  do 
discover  the  incipient  monster  and  eject  him  forthwith. 
Heavens,  what  powers  of  digestion  he  must  possess !  Good 
morning,  ladies — good  morning. ”  And  with  a  bow  he  left 
the  house. 

“  Florry,  dear,  do  try  and  sleep  some ;  I  will  do  all  that 
is  necessary  about  the  children.  True,  there  is  not  enough 
to  occupy  me  long,  and  meanwhile  you  must  impart  the 
news  of  this  victory  to  Aunt  Lizzy.” 


CHAPTER  XV. 

“  — — I  might  not  this  believe 
Without  the  sensible  and  true  avouch 
Of  mine  own  eyes.” 

Shakspeare. 

Twilight  had  fallen  slowly,  for  the  evening  was  heavy 
and  wet,  and  dark  masses  of  cloud  driven  by  the  northern 
blasts  sailed  gloomily  overhead.  Nature  wore  a  dreary 
aspect,  and  one  involuntarily  turned  inward  for  amusement 
A  bright  light  gleamed  from  the  window  of  Florence  Ham¬ 
ilton’s  humble  home,  and  her  little  dining-room  seemed  by 
contrast  extremely  cheerful ;  yet  the  hearts  of  its  inmates 
were  more  in  accordance  with  the  gloom  which  reigned 
without.  Aunt  Lizzy,  growing  somewhat  infirm  of  late,  had 
retired  earlier  than  usual.  Florence  had  been  sewing  al] 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 


69 

the  afternoon,  but  now  lay  with  closed  eyes  on  the  couch, 
her  hands  clasped  over  her  head.  Mary  sat  near  the  table 
holding  an  open  volume,  but  her  thoughts  had  evidently 
wandered  far  away  ;  for  her  gaze  was  fixed  abstractedly  on  the 
fire  which  blazed  and  crackled  at  her  feet.  The  girl’s  coun¬ 
tenance  was  an  interesting  study,  as  she  sat  rapt  in  her  sad¬ 
dened  thoughts.  A  careworn  expression  rested  upon  her 
face,  as  though  some  weighty  responsibility  too  soon  had 
fallen  on  one  so  frail.  The  cheeks  were  very  pale,  and  now 
and  then  across  the  lips  there  came  a  quiver,  as  though  she 
struggled  inwardly,  and  fain  would  give  no  outward  show  of 
grief.  In  truth,  an  almost  spiritual  expression  had  come 
over  her  features ;  the  impress  of  some  deep  and  hidden 
sorrow,  nobly  borne,  though  chasing  the  rosy  hue  from  her 
cheeks.  Sadder  grew  the  look,  and  some  acute  pain 
wrinkled  her  brow  as  she  threw  aside  the  book,  and  covered 
her  face  with  her  hands ;  while  a  heavy,  yet  smothered  sigh, 
struggled  forth,  as  if  striving  to  relieve  the  aching  heart. 

The  door  opened  noiselessly,  and  a  dark  shrouded  form 
glided  with  soft  steps  to  the  chair,  and  laid  a  heavy  hand 
on  her  shoulder.  Mary  raised  her  head,  and  starting  up, 
gazed  inquiringly  at  the  muffled  face,  while  the  intruder 
pointed  to  the  motionless  form  of  Florence,  and  laid  a  fin¬ 
ger  on  her  lip.  Then  beckoning  Mary  to  follow,  she  re¬ 
ceded,  with  stealthy  tread,  to  the  door,  which  was  softly 
closed,  and  walked  hurriedly  on  till  she  reached  a  large 
rose-tree,  which  shaded  the  window.  Mary  shivered  as 
the  piercing  wind  swept  over  her,  and  strove  in  vain  to 
suppress  a  fit  of  coughing.  There  was  a  moment’s  silence. 

“  You  did  not  know  me  ?  ” 

Mary  started.  “  I  did  not,  till  you  spoke  ;  but,  Inez,  what 
brings  you  out  on  such  a  night  ?  ” 

Inez  took  off  the  mantilla  which  had  so  effectually  con¬ 
cealed  her  features,  and  threw  it  round  the  frail,  drooping 
form  before  her. 

“  No,  no,  Inez,  you  will  take  cold ;  ”  and  Mary  tendered 
it  back. 

It  was  tossed  off  contemptuously,  and  mingled  with  a 
bitter  laugh  came  the  reply — “  I  am  not  cold,  Marinita,  nor 
ever  shall  be  but  once  again.  I  am  burning  with  an  inward 
fire  that  will  not  be  quenched.” 


7° 


ii 7EZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO, 


“You  are  ill,  Inez,  and  want  some  medicine  \  tell  me 
where  and  how  you  suffer  ? ” 

••  No,  no.  I  want  nothing  from  you  or  yours :  I  come 
to  help,  not  to  ask.  Mary,  why  is  it  you  have  made  me 
love  you  so,  when  I  hate  yonder  dark-eyed  girl  ?  But  I  am 
losing  time.  I  come  to  warn  you  of  danger,  and  even  now 
I  am  watched ;  but  no  matter,  listen  to  what  I  have  to  say. 
The  Padre  hates  you,  even  as — as  I  hate  him,  and  has 
sworn  your  ruin.  I  tell  you  now  you  must  fly  from  San 
Antonio,  and  fly  quickly,  for  danger  is  at  hand.  My  country¬ 
men  are  many  here,  and  he  is  stronger  than  all.  You  and 
I  have  thwarted  him,  and  the  walls  of  a  far  off  convent  are 
our  destination — you,  and  your  cousin,  and  myself.  I  am 
at  heart  no  Catholic ;  I  have  seen  the  devil,  if  there  be  one, 
in  my  confessor.  I  have  heard  him  lie,  and  seen  him  take 
the  widow’s  and  the  orphan’s  portion.  Mary,  if  there  was  a 
God,  would  he  suffer  such  as  my  Padre  to  minister  in  his 
holy  place,  and  touch  the  consecrated  vessels  ?  No,  no ; 
there  is  none,  or  he  would  be  cut  off  from  the  face  of  the 
earth.” 

“  Inez  !  Inez  !  stop  and  hear  me.” 

“  No,  no  !  time  waits  for  none,  and  I  have  little  more  to 
say.  Mary,  you  are  deceived  ;  your  cousin  is  not  what  you 
think.  She  is  a  Catholic ;  for  mine  own  eyes  have  seen  her 
in  the  confessional,  and  mine  own  ears  have  listened  to  her 
aves  and  paters.” 

Mary  uttered  a  deep  groan,  and  clasped  Inez’s  arm,  mur¬ 
muring — “  You  are — you  must  be  delirious  or  mad  :  Florry 
deceive  me  !  impossible  !  ” 

“  Ah  !  poor  deluded  Mary  :  do  you  trust  any  on  earth  ? 
Yet  I  would  trust  you,  with  your  white  face  and  soft  blue 
eyes  ;  and  there  is  one  other  I  would  trust- — but  no  more. 
You  will  not  believe  that  Florence  has  turned  from  the  faith 
of  her  fathers  ?  Go  to  her  as  she  sleeps  yonder,  and  feel 
with  your  own  hand  the  crucifix  around  her  neck.  Ha ! 
you  hold  tight  to  my  arm  :  I  tell  you  your  Cousin  Florence 
is  as  black-hearted  as  the  Padre,  for  he  told  me  she  had 
promised  her  dying  father  to  follow  his  advice  in  all  things, 
yet  she  tells  you  not  of  this :  and  again,  has  she  not  won  the 
love  of  a  good,  a  noble  man,  and  does  she  not  scorn  his 
love ;  else  why  m  his  cheek  pale,  and  his  proud  step  slow  ? 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 


71 


Marinita,  I  have  read  you  long  ago.  You  love  your  Doc- 
tor,  but  he  loves  that  Florence,  whose  heart  is  black  and  cold 
as  this  night  You  are  moaning  in  your  agony ;  but  ali 
must  suffer.  I  have  suffered  more  than  you ;  I  shall  always 
suffer.  My  stream  of  bitterness  is  inexhaustible  ;  daily  I  am 
forced  to  quaff  the  black,  burning  waters.  Ha  !  I  know  my 
lot — I  swallow  and  murmur  not.  Mary,  I  am  sorry  to  make 
you  drink  so  much  that  is  bitter  to-night ;  but  you  must,  for 
your  own  good ;  better  a  friend  should  hold  the  cup  and  let 
you  taste,  than  have  it  rudely  forced  upon  you.” 

“  Why  have  you  told  me  this,  Inez  ?  I  never  did  you 
harm,  or  gave  you  pain.” 

“  Poor  pale  face  !  I  want  to  save  you  from  worse  than 
death — yea,  from  a  living  death.  Go  from  this  place ;  for 
if  you  are  here  a  month  hence,  you  will  be  lost.  Your 
people  here  will  be  defeated,  and  then  the  Mexicans  will 
hand  you  all  over  to  the  Padre,  who  says  he  means  to  put 
you  where  you  will  be  protected.  Mark  me :  you  will  be 
sent  where  no  cry  for  succor  will  ever  be  heard.  You  will 
be  imprisoned  for  life,  where  none  can  come  back  to  tell 
the  tale.  Mary,  go  to  your  friends  in  the  States  ;  or  if  you 
cannot  get  there,  go  where  your  people  are  many,  and  take 
your  Doctor  with  you,  for  blood  will  yet  run  down  these 
streets,  and  I  would  not  that  his  swelled  the  stream.  He 
has  promised  to  watch  over  you ;  tell  him  to  take  you  from 
here — from  this  cursed  place.  I  have  crept  from  home  this 
dark  night  to  tell  you  of  your  danger ;  I  am  watched,  for  the 
Padre  suspects  me,  but  you  were  always  good  ;  you  nursed 
me  and  my  dying  mother,  and  were  kind  to  Manuel,  and  I 
would  risk  more  than  I  have  to  help  you.  I  have  done  all 
I  can ;  I  charge  you,  wait  not  till  the  last  moment.” 

Inez  stretched  out  her  hand  for  her  mantilla,  which  she 
folded  closely  about  her  face,  and  then  clasped  Mary’s  hand 
in  hers. 

“  Inez  !  oh,  Inez  !  ” 

“  Well,  Marinita,  I  may  not  linger  here.  I  will  see  you 
again  if  I  can  ;  but  if  we  meet  no  more,  forget  not  Inez  de 
Garcia,  or  the  love  she  bears  you ;  and  as  the  greatest  bless¬ 
ing  now  for  you,  I  hope  you  may  soon  find  peace  in  the 
quiet  grave.  I  shall  never  find  rest  till  I  sleep  that  last, 
unbroken  sleep  1  ** 


72 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 


“  Inez,  my  heart  is  wrung  by  what  I  have  heard  tonight ; 
but  I  beg  of  you,  as  a  last  favor,  do  not,  oh,  do  not  turn 
away  from  God  !  Inez,  there  is  a  God  ;  and  death  is  not 
an  everlasting  sleep.  Hereafter  is  an  awful  tribunal ;  and 
if  not  again  on  earth,  you  and  I  shall  assuredly  meet  before 
God.  Oh !  believe  that  he  will  yet  bless  you  ;  that  he  will 
enable  you  to  bear  all  earthly  trials  ;  and,  if  faithful,  he  will 
receive  you  at  last  into  the  kingdom  of  eternal  rest.  Try 
to  forget  the  past,  and  in  this  book  you  will  find  the  path  of 
duty  so  clearly  marked  out,  that  you  cannot  mistake  it. 
5Tis  all  I  have  about  me,  yet  I  pray  God  it  may  be  the 
greatest  treasure  you  possess.” 

She  drew  a  small  Bible  from  her  pocket  as  she  spoke, 
and  pressed  it  within  Inez’s  fingers,  adding — “  I  cannot 
sufficiently  thank  you  for  your  kindness  in  warning  me  of 
my  danger  ;  I  shall  leave  this  place  as  soon  as  possible,  and 
shall  constantly  pray  that  you  may  be  spared  and  blessed.” 

She  held  out  her  hands.  Inez  clasped  them  tightly  for  a 
moment,  and  then  glided  down  the  walk  as  noiselessly  as 
she  came. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


44  Be  sure  that  you  teach  nothing  to  the  people  but  what  is  certainly 
to  be  found  in  Scripture.” 

Bishop  Taylor. 


Mary  Irving  sought  her  chamber,  and  sinking  on  her 
knees,  fervently  implored  the  blessing  and  guidance  of  Him 
who  is  very  precious  help  in  time  of  need.  She  prayed  for 
strength  to  meet  with  Christian  fortitude  the  trials  which 
awaited  her,  and  in  all  the  vicissitudes  of  her  checkered  life 
to  pursue  unfalteringly  the  path  of  duty.  She  strove  to  collect 
her  scattered  thoughts,  and  with  what  composure  she  could 
assume,  returned  to  the  dining-room.  The  fire  was  burning 
low  on  the  hearth,  and  the  single  candle  gave  but  a  faint, 
unsteady  light.  Florence  was  slowly  pacing  up  and  down 
the  floor ;  she  raised  her  head  as  Mary  entered,  then  sunk 
it  wearily  on  her  bosom,  and  resumed  her  walk. 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


n 


“  Florry,  come  sit  here  by  me — I  want  to  consult  you.” 

“  Is  it  very  important,  Mary  ?  I  feel  to-night  as  though 
I  could  comprehend  nothing ;  let  me  wear  off  this  dull  pain 
in  my  heart  and  head  by  walking,  if  possible.” 

“  My  dear  Florry,  it  is  important ;  and  therefore  you  will 
forgive  me  if  I  claim  your  attention.” 

Florence  seated  herself,  and  as  she  did  so,  leaned  her  head 
on  Mary’s  shoulder,  while  the  latter  wound  her  arm  fondly 
about  her,  and  gently  stroked  back  the  raven  hair  from  her 
aching  brow. 

“  Since  we  broke  up  our  school,  I  have  been  warned  that 
we  are  in  danger,  and  advised  to  leave  San  Antonio  as 
speedily  as  possible  ;  for  strife  is  evidently  at  hand,  and  a 
battleground  is  no  place  for  those  so  unprotected  as  you 

and  I.” 

“  Dr.  Bryant  has  promised  to  watch  over  us  ;  and  surely 
you  have  implicit  confidence  in  both  his  judgment  and  honor. 
What  do  you  fear,  Mary  ?  ” 

“  Everything.  We  may  remain  here  too  long — till  escape 
•  will  be  impossible  ;  and  then  who  may  predict  with  any  degree 
of  certainty  the  chances  of  war  ?  That  Dr.  Bryant  will  do 
all  that  a  friend  or  brother  would,  I  doubt  not ;  but  he  may 
be  powerless  to  help  when  danger  assails ;  and  even  if  he 
should  not,  to  travel  from  here  in  stormy  times  would  not 
be  so  easy  as  you  imagine.” 

“  Who  has  been  filling  your  head  with  such  ideas  ?  It 
could  be  none  other  than  that  dark-browed  Inez.” 

“  If  she  has,  could  aught  but  disinterested  friendship 
actuate  her  to  such  a  course  ?  ” 

“  Really,  Mary,  I  should  not  have  given  you  credit  for  so 
much  credulity.  Do  you  place  any  confidence  in  what  that 
girl  may  tell  you  ?  ” 

“  I  do  rely  on  what  she  confides  to  me.  Has  she  ever 
given  you  cause  to  doubt  her  sincerity  ?  Indeed,  Florry, 
you  do  her  injustice.  I  would  willingly — God  only  knows 
how  willingly — doubt  some  portions  of  what  I  have  heard 
from  her  lips,  but  I  dare  not.” 

“  Mary,  can  you  not  perceive  that  she  is  jealous  of 
us,  and  hopes,  by  operating  on  your  fears,  to  drive  us  from 
this  place  ?  The  Padre  hinted  as  much  to  me  not  long 
since.” 


74 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 


“  Florry,  it  is  for  you  to  say  whether  Inez  speaks  truth. 
From  her  lips  I  had  the  words — Your  Cousin  Florence  is  a 
Papist,  wears  a  crucifix  about  her  neck,  and  kneels  in  the 
confessional.  Oh,  Florry  !  will  you — can  you — do  you  deny 
the  charge  ?  ” 

The  cousins  stood  up,  and  each  gazed  full  upon  the  other. 
Mary’s  face  was  colorless  as  marble,  and  her  hands  were 
tightly  clasped  as  she  bent  forward  with  a  longing,  search¬ 
ing,  eager  Iook.  A  crimson  glow  rushed  to  Florence’s  very 
temples ;  then  receded,  leaving  an  ashy  paleness. 

“  I  am  a  member  of  the  Church  of  Rome.” 

Mary  groaned  and  sank  back  into  her  chair,  at  this  con¬ 
firmation  of  her  fears.  Florence  leaned  against  the  chim¬ 
ney,  and  continued  in  a  low,  but  clear  voice — “  I  have  little 
to  say  in  defense  of  what  you  may  consider  a  deception.  I 
deny  the  right  of  any  on  earth  to  question  my  motives  or 
actions  ;  yet  I  would  not  that  you,  Mary,  who  have  loved  me 
so  long  and  truly,  should  be  alienated,  without  hearing  the 
reasons  which  I  have  to  allege  in  favor  of  my  conduct. 
Mary,  think  well  when  I  ask  you  what  prospect  of  happiness 
there  was  for  me  a  month  since?  Alone  in  the  wide 
world,  with  ruined  hopes,  and  a  long,  long,  joyless  future 
stretching  gloomily  before  me.  I  was  weary  of  life.  I 
longed  for  death,  not  as  a  passport  to  the  joys  of  heaven 
(for  I  had  never  sought  or  deserved  them),  but  as  bringing 
rest,  peace,  and  oblivion  of  the  past.  I  viewed  it  only  as  a 
long,  last,  dreamless  sleep.  Mary,  I  was  groping  my  way 
in  what  seemed  endless  night,  when  suddenly  there  came  a 
glimmer  of  light,  faint  as  the  first  trembling  rays  of  the 
evening  star,  and  just  pierced  the  darkness  in  which  I 
wandered.  The  Padre  came  to  me,  and  pointed  to  the 
long-forgotten  God,  and  bade  me  seek  him  who  nath  said, 
come  unto  me  all  ye  who  are  weary,  and  I  will  give  you  rest. 
Mary,  do  you  wonder  that  I  clasped  the  hand  outstretched  to 
save  me,  and  besought  him  to  lead  me  to  the  outraged  and 
insulted  God?  My  eyes  were  opened,  and  looking  down 
the  long,  dark  vista  of  the  past,  I  saw  how,  worshiping  a 
creature,  I  built  a  great  barrier  between  myself  and  heaven. 
I  saw  my  danger,  and  resolved,  ere  it  was  too  late,  to  dedi¬ 
cate  the  remainder  of  my  life  to  him  who  gave  it.  The  door 
of  the  church  was  opened*  and  Father  Mazzolin  pointed  out 


aNEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO.  7£ 

the  way  by  which  I  might  be  saved.  The  paths  seem 
flowery,  and  he  tells  me  the  ways  are  those  of  pleasantness 
and  peace,  and  I  have  resolved  to  try  them.  Once,  and  once 
only,  I  met  him  at  confession,  hoping,  by  unveiling  my  suffer* 
ings  to  a  man  of  God,  to  receive  comfort  of  a  higher  order 
than  I  might  otherwise  expect.  He  has  granted  me  absolution 
for  the  past,  and  I  doubt  not  that  in  future  the  intercession  of 
the  blessed  saints  in  heaven  will  avail  with  my  offended 
Maker.”  * 

“  Florry,  my  own  dear  Florry !  hear  me,  for  none  on  earth 
love  you  as  I  do.  Do  you  not  believe  the  Bible — God’s  written 
word  ?  Has  he  not  said,  ‘  there  is  one  mediator  between  God 
and  man — the  man  Christ  Jesus  ?  ’  Has  not  Christ  made 
propitiation  for  our  sin,  and  assured  us  there  is  but  one  way 
whereby  we  may  be  saved,  repentance  for  our  past  sins  and 
faith  in  the  sufficiency  of  his  atonement  ?  Do  you  doubt  the 
efficacy  of  Christ’s  suffering  and  death  ?  Tell  me,  Florry, 
by  what  authority  you  invoke  your  saints  ?  Surely  you  do 
so  in  opposition  to  the  express  declaration  of  the  Bible  al¬ 
ready  quoted — ‘  there  is  07ie  mediator  between  God  and 
man.’  ” 

“  The  holy  Fathers  of  our  church  have  been  in  the  habit 
of  praying  for  the  intercession  of  saints  from  the  earliest 
periods,  and  none  have  questioned  their  fervent  piety,  or 
doubted  the  orthodoxy  of  their  faith,”  replied  Florence. 

“  In  the  first  place,”  said  Mary,  “  it  would  be  ridiculous 
in  the  extreme  to  advocate  all  the  opinions  and  tenets  ad¬ 
vanced  by  those  same  Fathers.  St,  Augustine  doubted  the 
existence  of  the  antipodes;  Tertullian  emphatically  pro¬ 
nounced  second  marriages  adultery ;  Origen  denied  the  sin 
of  David  in  causing  the  death  of  Uriah,  and  has  often  been 
accused  of  favoring  Arianism,  and  the  doctrine  of  transmi¬ 
gration  of  soul ;  while  it  is  a  well-known  fact,  that  Jerome, 
to  vindicate  Peter  from  the  charge  of  dissimulation,  actually 
accused  St.  Paul  of  lying,  and  thereby  favoring  deceit.  In 
the  second  place,  are  you  quite  sure  that  they  were  in  the 
habit  of  invoking  saints  ?  ” 

“  Certainly,  Mary ;  for  it  is  undeniable  that  St.  Augustine 
in  his  Meditations  calls  on  the  Blessed  Virgin,  and  all  the 
angels  and  apostles  in  heaven,  to  intercede  with  God  in  his 
behalf.  Father  Mazzolin  pointed  out  the  passage  no  later 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


76 

than  last  week,  to  remove  the  doubts  which  I  confess  I  en¬ 
tertained,  as  to  whether  it  was  proper  and  in  accordance 
with  the  practise  of  the  Fathers  to  implore  such  interces¬ 
sion.  ” 

“  And  does  your  conviction  rest  on  so  frail  a  basis  ? 
Hear  what  the  Rev.  Dr.  Milner  says  on  this  subject,  in  the 
first  volume  of  his  Ecclesiastical  History  ;  ”  and  taking  it 
from  the  shelf,  Mary  read  : 

“  ‘  The  book  of  Meditations,  though  more  known  to  Eng¬ 
lish  readers  than  any  other  of  the  works  ascribed  to  Au¬ 
gustine,  on  account  of  the  translation  of  it  into  our  language 
by  Stanhope,  seems  not  to  be  his,  both  on  account  of  its 
style,  which  is  sententious,  concise,  abrupt,  and  void  of  any 
of  those  classical  elegancies  which  now  and  then  appear  in 
our  author’s  genuine  writings  ;  and  also,  on  account  of  the 
prayers  to  deceased  saints  which  it  contains.  This  last 
circumstance  peculiarly  marks  it  to  have  been  of  a  later 
date  than  the  age  of  Augustine.  Frauds  of  this  kind  were 
commonly  practised  on  the  works  of  the  Fathers  in  the 
monastic  times.’ 

“  And  why,  Florry,  does  it  peculiarly  mark  it  as  spurious  ? 
Because,  had  he  entertained  these  views  on  so  vital  a  point, 
the  expression  of  them  would  most  certainly  have  occurred  in 
his  other  very  voluminous  works.  I  have  searched  his  Con¬ 
fessions  for  instances  of  this  invocation,  either  from  himself 
or  anxious  mother,  and  had  he  believed,  as  the  Catholic 
prelates  assert,  in  this  intercession  of  the  dead,  it  would  most 
assuredly  have  been  sought  in  the  hour  of  his  suffering  and 
fear,  lest  he  should  be  given  over.  But  I  find  none.  On 
the  contrary,  these  two  passages  occur  in  his  Confessions  : 
‘  I  now  sought  the  way  of  obtaining  strength  to  enjoy  thee, 
and  found  it  not,  till  I  embraced  the  mediator  between  God 
and  man,  Jesus  Christ,  who  is  above  all,  God,  blessed  for¬ 
ever,  calling  and  saying  I  am  the  way,  the  truth,  and  the  life.* 
And  here,  Florry,  is  another  extract  from  the  same  book  still 
more  conclusive — 4  Whom  shall  I  look  to  as  my  mediator  ? 
Shall  I  go  to  angels  ?  Many  have  tried  this,  and  have  been 
fond  of  visions,  and  have  deserved  to  be  the  sport  of  the 
illusions  which  they  loved.  The  true  mediator,  whom  in 
thy  secret  mercy  thou  hast  shown  to  the  humble,  and  hast 
sent  that  by  his  example  they  might  also  learn  humility,  th« 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


77 


man  Christ  Jesus5  hath  appeared  a  mediator  between  mortal 
sinners  and  the  immortal  Holy  One,  that  he  might  justify 
the  ungodly,  and  deliver  them  from  death.’  Yet  in  your 
manuals  you  are  directed  to  say  f  Mother  of  God  command 
thy  son  ; 9  and  one  of  your  prayers,  Florry,  is  as  follows  : 

<  Hail,  Holy  Queen  !  Mother  of  Mercy — our  life,  our  sweet¬ 
ness,  and  our  hope  !  To  thee  do  we  cry,  poor  banished 
sons  of  Eve,  to  thee  do  we  send  up  our  sighs,  mourning  and 
weeping  in  the  valley  of  tears.  Turn  thee,  most  gracious 
Advocate,  thy  eyes  of  mercy  toward  usd  And  at  vespers 
you  say, 

‘Hail,  Mary!  queen  of  heavenly  spheres, 

Hail  !  whom  the  angelic  host  reveres  !  * 

Florry,  in  all  candor,  let  us  investigate  this  subject ;  we  will 
consult  both  the  Bible  and  the  Fathers,  or,  if  you  prefer  it, 
by  the  words  of  the  latter  only  we  will  decide ;  for  truth  we 
are  searching.” 

“  Mary,  let  me  read  a  second  time  those  passages  from  St. 
Augustine.  Strange  I  should  have  been  so  deceived,”  she 
continued,  as,  having  perused  them,  she  returned  the  book 
to  her  cousin. 

“  Florry,  can  you  perceive  any  encouragement  there  given 
to  the  practise  of  invocation  ?  Does  not  St.  Augustine  ex¬ 
pressly  denounce  it  ?  ” 

“  There  can  be  no  doubt  of  his  sentiments  on  this  point ; 
but,  Mary,  this  is  only  one  decision,  when  I  have  been  assured 
that  the  united  voices  of  many  Fathers  established  it  with¬ 
out  a  doubt,  even  supposing  there  was  no  authority  in  Holy 
Writ  for  such  a  custom — :which,  however,  we  have,  for  did  not 
Jacob  wrestle  with  an  angel  and  did  not  his  blessing  descend 
upon  him  ?  ” 

“  But  Christ  had  not  then  died ;  neither  had  the  Christian 
dispensation  succeeded  to  the  old  Jewish  rites  and  customs. 
If  you  will  turn  to  Jeremiah,  you  will  also  read  how  the  curse 
of  God  was  pronounced  against  the  idolaters  who  offered  in¬ 
cense  to  the  Queen  of  Heaven  :  yet  you  do  the  same.  Still, 
by  the  tradition  of  the  elders,  we  will  judge.  Hear  the  words 
of  Paulinus  on  this  subject — ‘  Paul  is  not  a  mediator ;  he  is 
an  ambassador  for  Christ.  John  intercedes  not,  but  declares 
that  this  mediator  is  the  propitiation  for  our  sin.  The  Son 


7  8  yjyEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 

of  Almighty  God,  because  he  redeemed  us  with  the  price  of 
his  blood,  is  justly  called  the  true  Redeemer.’  Again,  the 
great  and  good  Ambrose — ‘  We  follow  thee,  Lord  Jesus,  but 
draw  us  up  that  we  may  follow.  No  one  rises  without  thee. 
Let  us  seek  him,  and  embrace  his  feet,  and  worship  him, 
that  he  may  say  to  us,  Fear  not.  I  am  the  remission  of  sin. 
I  am  the  light,  I  am  the  life.  He  that  cometh  to  me  shall 
not  see  death  ;  because  he  is  the  fulness  of  divinity.’  One 
more,  Florry — ‘  Come  to  yourselves  again,  ye  wretched  trans- 
gressors  !  Return  ye  blind  to  your  light !  Shall  we  not 
believe  God,  when  he  swears  that  neither  Noah,  nor  Daniel, 
or  Job,  shall  deliver  one  son  or  daughter  by  their  righteous¬ 
ness.  For  this  end  he  makes  the  declaration,  that  none  might 
put  confidence  in  the  intercession  of  saints.  Ye  fools  !  who 
run  to  Rome  to  seek  there  for  the  intercession  of  an  Apostle. 
When  will  ye  be  wise?  What  would  St.  Augustine  say  of 
you,  whom  ye  have  so  often  quoted  ?  ’  Such,  Florry,  are  the 
words  of  the  celebrated  Claud  of  Turin  ;  but  as  he  is  re¬ 
garded  by  your  church  somewhat  as  a  reformer,  I  will  just 
read  one  passage  from  Anselm,  whose  orthodoxy  no  Papist 
ever  questioned.  Speaking  of  the  intercession  of  Christ — - 
1  If  the  people  sin  a  thousand  times,  they  need  no  other 
Saviour  ;  because  this  suffices  for  all  things,  and  cleanses  from 
all  sin.’  Florry,  we  have  jointly  admired  the  character  of 
one  of  the  earliest  martyrs,  St.  Cyprian.  Will  you  hear  him 
on  this  subject? — ‘Christ,  if  it  be  possible,  let  us  all  follow. 
Let  us  be  baptized  in  his  name.  He  opens  to  us  the  way  of 
life.  He  brings  us  back  to  Paradise.  He  leads  us  to  the 
heavenly  kingdom.  Redeemed  by  his  blood,  we  shall  be  the 
blessed  of  God  the  Father.’  Yet  you  say  in  your  prayers, 
‘  We  fly  to  thy  patronage,  oh !  holy  Mother  of  God  !  ’  And 
again — 

‘  Hail  sacred  gate.* 

Florence,  you  have  cited  the  Fathers :  by  their  own  words 
are  you  not  convinced  as  to  intercession  ?  ” 

“  Mary,  I  was  asking  myself  if  vital  Christianity  could 
exist  in  any  church  which  allows  such  a  system  of  deceit  on 
the  part  of  its  clergy  :  for  deceived  I  assuredly  have  been.” 

“  You  should  remember,  Florry,  that  the  promulgation  of 
Papal  doctrines,  and  the  aggrandizement  of  the  Romish 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 


79 


church,  is  the  only  aim  of  its  priesthood ;  consequently,  all 
means  which  conduce  to  this  great  object  are  unscrupulously 
employed.  Even  crime  is  sanctioned  where  the  good  of  the 
church  can  be  promoted.” 

“  Surely,  Mary,  you  cannot  mean  what  you  say  ?  Crime 
sanctioned  by  the  Romish  clergy !  Impossible  !  How  dare 
you  make  such  an  assertion  !  ” 

“  It  doubtless  strikes  you,  Florry,  as  strangely  unchari¬ 
table  and  unchristian  ;  yet,  if  you  will  consult  the  records 
of  the  past,  I  venture  to  say  you  will  think  very  differently. 
What  memorable  event  occurred  on  one  of  your  saints’  days 
— the  24th  of  August,  1572  ?  At  dead  of  night  the  signal 
was  given,  and  the  Papal  ministers  of  France  perpetrated 
the  foulest  deed  that  stains  the  page  of  history.  Thirty 
thousand  Huguenots  were  butchered  in  their  beds.  And 
what  distinguished  the  murderer  from  the  doomed  victim  ? 
A  white  cross  on  the  hat  of  the  former.  How  did  Imperial 
Rome  receive  the  tidings  of  this  massacre  ?  The  cannons 
were  discharged,  the  Pope  ordered  a  jubilee  and  grand  pro¬ 
cession,  and  caused  a  Te  Deum  to  be  chanted.  I  ask  you, 
Florry,  was  not  this  sanctioning  crime  ?  Again,  how  died  the 
great  Henry  IV  ?  The  celebrated  edict  of  Nantes  sealed  his 
doom,  and  the  infamous  Ravaillac,  for  the  good  of  the  Rom¬ 
ish  church,  conveniently  forgot  the  commandment  of  Jehovah, 
and  meritoriously  assassinated  him.  Florry,  I  have  myself 
heard  a  Papist  say,  ‘  that  whatever  her  priest  commanded,  she 
would  unhesitatingly  perform.’  Shocked  at  the  broad  asser¬ 
tion,  I  replied  :  ‘  You  surely  do  not  know  what  you  are  saying. 
Obey  the  priest  in  all  things  1  Why,  you  would  not  commit 
murder  at  his  command  ?  ”  6  Certainly  I  would,  if  my  priest 

bid  me  ;  for  if  I  obey  him,  I  cannot  do  wrong.’  I  know 
this  to  be  true  ;  and  I  ask  you  what  is  the  inference  ?  You 
admit  that  you  have  been  deceived.  Pious  frauds  were  com¬ 
mitted  in  the  time  of  Ambrose  and  Chrysostom  ;  yet  hear 
what  St.  Augustine  says :  4  Lying  is  the  saying  of  one  thing, 
and  thinking  of  another ;  ’  and  in  all  cases,  even  for  most 
pious  purposes,  he  excludes  lying  as  unchristian  and  anti- 
scriptural.” 

Florence  was  leaning  with  clasped  hands  on  the  table 
gazing  intently  at  her  cousin  ;  while  Mary  knelt  on  the 
other  side,  her  hand  resting  on  the  large  family  Bible.  The 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 


So 

light  fell  full  on  her  pale  face  as  she  knelt ;  her  chestnut 
curls  half  vailing  the  pure  white  cheek,  and  the  dark-blue 
eyes,  earnest,  and  yet  almost  angelic,  in  their  gentle,  loving 
expression. 

“  Oh,  Florry  !  need  I  implore  you  in  future  to  look  to 
Christ  alone  as  the  author  of  our  salvation  ?  ” 

“  One  more  question,  Mary.  Is  there  not.  a  passage  in 
Revelations  substantiating  the  doctrine  of  intercession  ? 
Father  Mazzolin  assured  me  the  testimony  was  conclusive 
in  favor  of  that  practise.” 

“  The  passages  to  which  you  allude  are  these:  ‘And 
another  angel  came  and  stood  at  the  altar,  having  a  golden 
censor ;  and  there  was  given  unto  him  much  incense,  that 
he  should  offer  it,  with  the  prayers  of  all  saints,  upon  the 
golden  altar  which  was  before  the  throne.  And  the  smoke 
of  the  incense  which  came  with  the  prayers  of  the  saints, 
ascended  up  before  God  out  of  the  angel’s  hand.’  No  word 
of  intercession  occurs  here  ;  and  are  we  not  as  free  to  sup¬ 
pose  that  the  prayers  so  offered  were  in  their  own  behalf 
as  that  of  their  friends  ?  Had  it  been  as  the  Padre  tells 
you,  would  not  St.  John  have  said  intercession  or  prayers 
in  behalf  of  others  ?  ” 

“  Mary,  can  you  have  mistaken  the  passage  ?  This  can¬ 
not  be  his  boasted  testimony.” 

“  I  know  that  these  two  verses  are  highly  prized  by 
Papists,  as  establishing  the  doctrine  in  question  ;  yet  I  can¬ 
not  see  them  in  that  light — can  you?”  “No,  no;  and  if 
these  are  the  strongest  arguments  they  can  adduce  in  the 
defense  of  invocation,  I  reject  it  as  a  remnant  of  the  dark 
ages,  during  which  period  it  certainly  crept  into  the 
church.” 

“  If  you  do  this,  Florry,  you  cause  the  whole  fabric  to 
totter,  for  on  this  doctrine,  as  a  foundation,  rests  the  arch, 
of  which  confession  is  the  keystone.” 

“  ‘  Confess  ye  your  sins,  one  to  another,’  is  very  strong  in 
our  favor,  Mary  ?  ” 

“  Florry,  we  are  searching  for  truth,  and  let  us  in  all 
humility  and  candor  investigate  this  particularly  important 
point.  It  seems  to  me  that  St.  James’s  meaning  is  this — 
when  we  have  offended  or  harmed  our  fellow-men  or 
brethren,  we  should  make  all  the  amends  in  our  power,* 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


81 


confess  our  faults  unto  them ;  implore  their  pardon,  and  ab¬ 
stain  from  offensive  conduct  in  future.  Do  you  not  think 
that  if  he  had  intended  us  to  interpret  it  differently,  he 
would  have  said — ‘  Confess  your  faults  unto  your  priest,  and 
he  will  give  you  absolution.’  Setting  aside  all  bias,  do  you 
not  think  this  reasonable  ;  the  more  so,  when  we  call  to  mind 
those  words  of  our  Saviour  in  his  sermon  on  the  mount : 
6  Therefore,  if  thou  bring  thy  gift  to  the  altar,  and  there 
rememberest  that  thy  brother  hath  aught  against  thee,  leave 
there  thy  gift  before  the  altar,  and  go  thy  way;  first  be 
reconciled  to  thy  brother,  and  then  come  and  offer  thy 
gift.’  If  our  Lord  had  intended  the  ordinance  of  confes¬ 
sion,  would  he  not  have  said  on  this  occasion,  ‘  First  con¬ 
fess  thy  sins  unto  thy  priest,  and  when  he  has  absolved 
thee,  then  come  with  clean  hands  and  offer  thy  gift.’  Mark 
the  difference,  and  ask  your  own  heart  if  there  is  any  en¬ 
couragement  here  for  confessing  to  your  Padre  ?  ” 

“If  this  passage  of  James  were  all  we  could  adduce  in 
favor  of  confession,  I  should  think  with  you,  Mary  ;  yet  it 
is  not  so.  When  about  to  dismiss  his  Apostles  on  their 
errands  of  mercy,  Christ,  said  to  them — ‘  Peace  be  with 
you;  as  my  Father  hath  sent  me,  even  so  I  send  you;’ 
and  when  he  had  breathed  upon  them,  he  said  unto  them 
— £  Receive  ye  the  Holy  Ghost ;  whosesoever  sins  ye  remit, 
they  are  remitted  unto  them,  and  whosesoever  sins  ye  re¬ 
tain,  they  are  retained.’  Now,  Mary,  do  you  not  plainly 
perceive  that  the  power  of  forgiving  sin  was  conferred  upon 
the  Apostles  ?  ” 

“  Most  assuredly  I  do ;  and  avow  my  belief  that  they 
were  enabled  to  forgive  sin,  and  at  the  same  time  other 
miraculous  powers  were  conferred  on  the  ‘  Twelve.’  *  Then 
he  called  his  twelve  disciples  together,  and  gave  them 
power  and  authority  over  all  devils,  and  to  cure  diseases.’ 
We  know  that  they  cast  out  devils,  restored  the  blind, 
and  raised  the  dead.  Power  to  forgive  sin  was  one  among 
many  wonderful  gifts  conferred  upon  them.  Yet  you  do 
not  believe  that  the  power  of  raising  the  dead  was  trans¬ 
mitted  to  posterity.  How,  then,  can  you  say  the  gift  of 
absolution  was  ?  ” 

“  But,  Mary,  Christ  says  in  another  place — “  Thou  art 
Peter :  and  upon  this  rock  I  will  build  my  church,  and  the 


82 


sNEZ :  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


gates  of  Hell  shall  not  prevail  against  it.  And  I  will  give 
unto  thee  the  keys  of  the  kingdom  of  heaven,  and  whatso¬ 
ever  thou  shalt  bind  on  earth  shall  be  bound  in  heaven, 
and  whatsoever  thou  shalt  loose  on  earth  shall  be  loosed  in 
heaven.’  ” 

“  I  perfectly  agree  with  you,  Florry,  in  believing  that 
St.  Peter  had  miraculous  powers  bestowed  on  him  by  our 
Saviour ;  but  it  seems  absurd  to  suppose  that  these  powers 
were  perpetuated  in  the  ministers  of  the  Roman  Catholic 
Church.  Our  Saviour  said,  what  ‘  Peter  loosed,  should  be 
loosed  in  heaven/  and  not  what  Peter’s  successors  loosed 
should  be  observed  and  loosed  in  heaven.  We  should  not 
judge  of  Christ’s  views  by  isolated  passages,  but  rather 
from  all  his  teachings  ;  for  if  we  did,  what  would  you  say 
to  the  verse  just  below  those  already  quoted,  ‘  And  he  said 
unto  Peter,  Get  thee  behind  me,  Satan  :  thou  art  an  offense 
unto  me :  for  thou  savorest  not  the  things  which  be  of  God, 
but  those  that  be  of  men.’  But  this  is  wandering  from  the 
subject.  In  St.  Augustine’s  Confessions,  though  I  admit 
somewhat  abridged,  I  find  nothing  relating  to  confessing  to 
priests.  This  passage  alone  appears  :  ‘  O  Lord,  thou  know- 
est ! — have  I  not  confessed  my  sins  to  thee  ?  and  hast  thou 
not  pardoned  the  iniquity  of  my  heart?’  Speaking  of  a 
sudden  illness  during  his  boyhood,  he  says  he  eagerly  de¬ 
sired  baptism,  fearing  to  die,  and  his  mother  was  about  to 
comply  with  his  request,  when  he  quickly  recovered.  Now, 
had  he  considered  confession  necessary,  would  he  not  have 
urged  it  upon  all  who  read  his  Confessions,  which  you  will 
mark,  Florry,  were  not  made  to  a  priest,  but  obviously  to 
God  himself.” 

There  followed  a  long  pause,  while  Florence  dropped  her 
face  in  her  hands  and  sighed  heavily. 

“  Florry,  it  is  very  late  ;  our  candle  has  burnt  low — see,  it 
is  flickering  in  the  socket ;  we  have  not  heeded  the  lapse  of 
time.”  She  rose  and  replaced  the  books  she  had  been 
consulting. 

“  Mary,  Mary  !  why  have  you  shaken  my  faith  ?  I  had 
thought  to  find  comfort  in  future,  but  you  have  torn  my 
hope  from  me,  and  peace  flies  with  the  foundations  which 
you  have  removed  !  ” 

“  Florry,  you  have  been  blinded,  deceived.  They  have 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO.  83 

cried  unto  you,  Peace !  peace !  when  there  was  no  peace. 
But  oh !  there  is  a  source  of  rest,  and  strength,  and  com¬ 
fort,  which  is  to  be  attained  not  by  confession,  or  the  inter¬ 
cession  of  the  dead  or  living,  but  by  repentance  for  the 
past,  and  an  active,  trusting  faith  in  the  mediation  of  our 
blessed  Lord  Jesus  Christ.” 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

“  The  purple  clouds’ 

Are  putting  on  their  gold  and  violet, 

To  look  the  meeter  for  the  sun’s  bright  coming. 

How  hallowed  is  the  hour  of  morning  !  Meet — 

Ay  !  beautifully  meet— for  the  pure  prayer.” 

Willis. 


Morn  broke  in  the  East ;  or,  in  the  beautiful  language  of 
the  Son  of  Fingal,  “  Sol’s  yellow  hair  streamed  on  the  East¬ 
ern  gale.”  Awakened  by  the  first  chirping  of  the  feathered 
tribe,  Florence  rose  as  the  gray  morning  light  stole  into  her 
chamber,  and  seating  herself  at  the  window,  looked  out  on 
the  town  before  her.  Quiet  reigned  as  yet,  broken  only  by 
the  murmuring  and  gurgling  of  the  river,  which  rolled 
swiftly  on,  just  below  their  little  gate.  How  delightful  to 
her  seemed 

u  The  cool,  the  fragrant,  and  the  silent  hour 
To  meditation  due.” 

Calmly  she  now  weighed  the  conversation  of  the  preceding 
night,  and,  engrossed  in  earnest  thought,  sat  gazing  out  till 
the  Orient  shone  resplendent,  and  an  October  sun  poured 
his  rays  gloriously  around  her.  Then  she  knelt,  and  prayed 
as  she  had  never  done  before.  She  sought  the  “  pure  foun¬ 
tain  of  light,”  and  implored  strength  and  guidance  in  her 
search  after  truth.  Rising,  her  glance  fell  on  her  sleeping 
cousin,  and  she  was  struck  with  the  change  which  within 
the  last  month  had  taken  place  in  her  appearance.  Ap- 
proaching  the  bed,  she  lifted  the  masses  of  chestnut  hair 


84 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


that  clung  to  the  damp  brow.  As  she  looked  on  the  pure, 
pale  face,  there  came  a  gush  of  tenderness  into  her  soul,  and 
bending,  she  imprinted  a  long,  warm  kiss.  Mary  stirred, 
and  opened  her  eyes. 

“  Ah,  Florry,  you  are  up  earlier  than  usual.”  She  closed 
them  again,  murmuring  slowly,  “  I  feel  as  though  I  had  no 
strength  remaining ;  I  can  scarcely  lift  my  head.” 

“  Sleep,  Mary,  if  you  can.  I  will  shut  out  the  light,  and 
call  you  again  after  a  while.” 

“  No,  Florry,  I  must  not  give  way  to  such  feelings ;  indeed 
they  are  getting  quite  too  common  of  late  ;  I  can’t  think 
what  makes  me  so  weak  and  feverish.” 

An  hour  later,  as  they  stood  together  at  the  door  of  their 
little  dining-room,  a  body  of  Mexican  cavalry  dashed  furi¬ 
ously  past  their  gate.  The  cousins  looked  full  at  each  other. 
Then  Florence  said  in  a  low,  calm  tone:  “You  are  right, 
Mary ;  we  will  go  from  this  place ;  I  feel  now  that  it  is  for 
the  best.”  She  averted  her  face  ;  but  Mary  saw  an  expres¬ 
sion  of  keen  agony  resting  there.  “  Florry,  let  us  consult 
Mrs.  Carlton.  She  will  advise  us  what  would  be  best  to  do 
in  this  emergency.” 

“  Go  and  see  her  yourself ;  I  cannot.  Whatever  you  de¬ 
cide  upon  I  will  agree  to.  Oh  !  Mary,  how  desolate  and 
unprotected  we  are.” 

“  No,  not  while  there  is  an  Almighty  One  to  watch  over 
us.  But,  Florry,  I  am  much  troubled  about  Aunt  Lizzy. 
I  mentioned  our  wish  to  leave  here,  and  she  opposed  it 
strenuously,  on  the  grounds  that  the  Padre  had  promised  his 
protection.  Now  what  are  we  to  do  ?  ” 

“  Go  to  Mrs.  Carlton’s,  Mary,  and  I  will  convince  aunt 
that  it  is  best  we  should  remove  from  here  immediately. 
You  need  apprehend  no  difficulty  on  her  part.  As  you 
return  from  Mrs.  Carlton’s,  meet  me  in  the  church-yard.” 

“  Florry,  do  not  go  till  I  come  home ;  or,  if  you  prefer  it, 
let  us  go  there  at  once.” 

“  No,  Mary,  I  wish  to  be  there  alone.” 

“  But  I  am  afraid  it  is  not  quite  safe  for  you  to  venture 
out  so  far  from  home.” 

“  I  fear  nothing :  who  would  harm  a  daughter  beside  her 
father’s  grave  ?  ” 

Mary  sighed  heavily,  but  ^offered  no  further  opposition. 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO.  85 

Her  walk  to  Mrs.  Carlton’s  was  a  sad  one,  for  her  heart 
clung  to  the  scenes  she  had  learned  to  love  so  well,  and  the 
prospect  of  departure,  and  the  uncertainty  of  the  future, 
weighed  heavily  on  her  heart,  and  made  her  step  unwontedly 
slow.  She  found  her  friend  alone,  and  much  depressed. 
Mrs.  Carlton  clasped  her  tenderly  in  her  arms,  while  the 
tears  rolled  silently  down  her  cheeks. 

“  I  hope  nothing  has  happened  to  distress  you  ?  ”  said 
Mary,  anxiously. 

“  You  are  the  very  one  I  wished  to  see.  Mr.  Carlton 
said,  this  morning,  that  he  was  unwilling  for  me  to  remain 
here  any  longer,  as  our  troops  are  marching  to  attack  the 
Alamo.  He  says  he  will  take  us  to  Washington,  and  I  could 
not  bear  the  idea  of  leaving  you  here.” 

“  I  have  come  to  consult  you  on  this  subject ;  for  some  of 
my  Mexican  friends  have  advised  us  to  leave  San  Antonio ; 
and  not  knowing  where  or  how  to  go,  concluded  to  come 
and  see  you.  But  Washington  is  far,  very  far  from  here. 
How  will  we  ever  reach  it  in  these  unsettled  times  ?  ” 

“  Mr.  Carlton  and  Frank  have  gone  to  make  all  neces¬ 
sary  preparation  for  our  immediate  departure.  We  will  have 
two  tents,  and  carry  such  cooking  utensils  and  provisions  as 
are  needful  for  a  tedious  journey  :  one  wagon  is  all  we  hope 
to  obtain  for  conveying  these.  I  suppose  we  shall  all  ride 
horseback  ;  for  you  know  there  is  not  a  carriage  in  the  town. 
Frank  does  not  wish  us  to  leave  this  place,  for  he  suggested 
your  coming  to  remain  with  us  till  these  stormy  times  were 
over.  But  this  is  not  a  suitable  home  for  you.  Surely  your 
cousin  and  aunt  will  consent  to  accompany  us  ?  ” 

“  Yes,  I  think  so  ;  for  Florry  left  it  entirely  with  me,  and 
certainly  we  should  go  now.” 

“  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  you  say  so,  Mary ;  not  only  upon 
your  own  account,  but  also  for  Frank.  He  will  consider 
himself  bound  to  accompany  you  ;  for  he  promised  your 
dying  uncle  to  watch  over  you  both  with  a  brother’s  care, 
and  otherwise  he  could  not  be  induced  to  leave  San  Antonio 
at  this  crisis.  He  seems  completely  rapt  in  the  issue  of  the 
contest ;  and  would  you  believe  it,  Mary,  he  is  anxious  to 
enlist ;  but  my  entreaties  have  as  yet  prevented  him.” 

“  Dear  Mrs.  Carlton,  there  is  no  obligation  resting  on 
him  to  go  with  us.  He  has  been  very  kind  and  careful,  and 


86 


SNEZ?  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 


though  deeply  grateful,  we  could  not  consent  to  his  leaving 
against  his  own  inclinations.  Oh,  no  !  we  could  not  allow 
this.  Yet  should  he  remain,  what  may  be  the  result?  Oh  1 
Mrs.  Carlton,  this  is  terrible.’’ 

Mary’s  cheek  was  very  pale,  and  her  lips  quivered  con¬ 
vulsively,  while  the  small  hands,  clasped  each  other  tightly. 

“  Mary,  for  my  sake,  use  your  influence  with  him  in  favor 
of  going  to  Washington.  I  can’t  go  in  peace,  and  feel  that 
he  is  here  exposed  to  such  imminent  danger,  for  when  I  am 
gone,  what  will  restrain  him  ?  Mary,  Mary  1  do  not  deter 
him,  if  he  feels  it  incumbent  on  him  to  see  you  to  a  place  of 
of  safety.” 

“  Mrs.  Carlton,  you  can  appreciate  the  peculiar  position 
in  which  I  am  placed.  Florry  and  I  would  shrink  from 
drawing  him  away,  in  opposition  to  his  wishes,  particularly 
when  there  is  no  danger  attendant  on  our  traveling ;  for 
with  you  and  Mr.  Carlton  we  would  feel  no  apprehension ; 
and  even  if  we  did,  we  could  not  consent  to  such  a  sacrifice 
on  his  part.  Yet  I  sympathize  with  you,  most  sincerely,  and 
will  willingly  do  all  that  in  propriety  I  can  to  alleviate  your 
sorrow  ;  but  knowing  his  sentiments,  how  could  I  advise,  or 
even  acquiesce  in  his  going  ?  ” 

“  My  pure-hearted  girl,  forgive  a  request  made  so  thought¬ 
lessly.  I  had  not  considered,  as  I  should  have  done  ;  yet 
you  can  appreciate  the  anxious  feelings  which  dictated  it.” 
As  she  spoke,  Mrs.  Carlton  clasped  her  friend  to  her  heart, 
and  wept  on  her  shoulder.  No  tear  dimmed  Mary’s  eye ; 
yet  that  she  suffered,  none  who  looked  on  her  pale  brow 
and  writhing  lips  could  doubt.  As  she  raised  her  head  to 
reply,  Dr.  Bryant  entered,  and  started  visibly  on  seeing  her. 
Mrs.  Carlton  endeavored  to  regain  her  composure ;  and, 
with  a  slightly  faltering  voice,  asked  how  he  succeeded  in 
procuring  horses  ? 

“  Better  than  I  had  hoped,”  was  the  rejoinder ;  and  he 
held  out  his  hand  to  Mary.  She  gave  him  hers,  now  cold 
as  ice.  He  held  it  a  moment,  and  pressed  it  gently,  -saying ; 
“  You  see  my  sister  is  going  to  run  away  on  the  first  intima¬ 
tion  of  danger.  I  hope  she. has  not  infected  you  with  her 
fears ;  though,  to  judge  from  your  looks,  I  should  almost 
predict  a  stampede  in  another  direction.” 

“  Indeed  you  are  quite  right.  Florry  and  I  are  going 


INEZ :  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 


s7 

with  her;  though  we  had  decided  on  leaving  before  we 
knew  she  intended  doing  so.” 

“  Ah !  you  did  not  seen  to  apprehend  any  immediate 
danger  when  we  conversed  on  this  subject  a  few  days  since. 
What  has  changed  your  views  ?  ” 

“  I  have  been  warned  not  to  risk  the  dangers  attendant  on 
the  approaching  conflict  by  a  Mexican  friend,  whose  attach¬ 
ment  I  have  every  reason  to  believe  is  sincere ;  and  besides, 
it  needed  but  little  to  augment  my  fears :  and  Florry  and  I 
concluded,  if  practicable,  to  remove  to  a  place  of  greater 
safety.” 

“  Can  you  be  ready  within  two  days,  think  you,  Miss 
Mary  ?  for,  if  we  leave  at  all,  it  is  advisable  that  we  do  so 
immediately.” 

“  Oh,  yes  !  I  know  we  can  be  ready  by  that  time:” 

“  Let  me  see — how  many  additional  horses  shall  we  need  ? 
Yourself,  your  cousin,  and  aunt,  and  myself.” 

Mary  looked  eagerly  at  Mrs.  Carlton ;  but  she  had  averted 
her  head ;  and  for  a  moment  a  terrible  struggle  within  kept 
the  gentle  girl  silent. 

“  Dr.  Bryant,  I  know  you  do  not  wish  to  leave  here  at  this 
juncture,  intensely  interested  as  you  are  in  the  event,  and  I 
fear  you  are  sacrificing  your  own  wishes  for  our  benefit.  Let 
me  beg  you  to  consult  your  inclinations,  and  do  not  feel  it  in 
the  least  incumbent  on  you  to  attend  us,  particularly  when  we 
are  in  the  kind  care  of  Mr.  Carlton  ;  and  you  have  already 
done  so  much  toward  contributing  to  our  comfort.” 

“  Thank  you  for  your  consideration.  Nevertheless,  I 
shall  not  rest  satisfied  till  I  place  you  in  safety  on  the  banks 
of  the  Brazos.  One  of  my  greatest  pleasures  has  been  to 
render  you  service,  and  you  would  not  abridge  them,  I  hope, 
by  refusing  my  company  on  your  journey  ?  ” 

Mary’s  eyes  were  fixed  earnestly  on  his  face  while  he 
spoke,  and  though  there  was  no  change  in  his  kind,  gentle 
tone,  there  came  an  undefinable  expression  over  his  noble 
countenance — an  expression  in  which  coldness  and  scrrow 
predominated.  She  could  not  understand  him  ;  yet  a  shud* 
der  crept  though  her  frame,  and  a  sensation  of  acute  pain 
stole  into  her  heart.  She  felt  as  through  a  barrier  had  sud¬ 
denly  risen  between  them,  yet  could  not  analyze  the  cause. 

“  Your  servants  will  take  all  possible  care  of  the  house 


88 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 


and  furniture  during  your  absence,  which,  I  hope,  will  be 
but  temporary.  They  will  not  be  molested  ;  and  I  am  afraid 
we  could  not  conveniently  carry  two  additional  persons. 
What  think  you  of  this  arrangement  ?  ” 

“  I  think  with  you,  that  under  existing  circumstances  the 
servants  could  not  well  accompany  us  ;  and  though  they 
will  incur  no  danger,  I  regret  the  necessity  of  leaving  them, 
particularly  should  they  object.” 

“  I  hope  you  will  find  no  difficulty  in  arranging  every¬ 
thing  to  your  entire  satisfaction,  previous  to  our  departure. 
You  and  my  sister  must  consult  as  to  all  minor  points,  and 
I  must  look  to  our  preparations.  My  respects  to  your 
cousin.  I  will  see  you  again  to-morrow  ;  ”  and  bidding  her 
good  morning,  he  turned  away. 

“  Oh,  such  a  weight  is  lifted  from  my  heart !  ”  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Carlton.  “  I  can  now  exert  myself  as  I  am  called  on 
to  do.” 

“  Florry  will  be  waiting  for  me,  and  we  have  much  to  do 
at  home ;  so  good-by,”  and  Mary  lifted  her  pale  face  for  a 
farewell  kiss. 

Mrs.  Carlton  affectionately  embraced  her,  and  bidding 
her  “  make  all  speed,”  they  parted. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


“‘There  is  a  soul  just  delivered  from  Purgatory  !  * 
be  a  frog  dressed  in  red  flannel.” 


It  was  found  to 
Kirwan. 


Florence  having  succeeded,  as  she  imagined,  in  con¬ 
vincing  her  aunt  that  it  was  advisable  to  remove  from  San 
Antonio,  slowly  proceeded  to  the  churchyard,  little  dream¬ 
ing  that  the  door  had  scarce  closed  behind  her  ere  Aunt 
Lizzy,  with  swift  steps,  directed  her  way  to  the  house  of  the 
Padre.  He  was  writing,  but  gave  his  attention,  and  heard, 
with  ill-disguised  chagrin,  that  Florence  distrusted  his  prom¬ 
ised  protection. 

“  Does  she  doubt  in  matters  of  faith,  think  you  ? he 
eagerly  inquired. 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


89 

“  Indeed,  Padre,  I  cannot  say.  All  I  know  is,  that  she 
and  Mary  sat  till  midnight,  reading  and  talking,  and  she  has 
not  seemed  like  herself  since.” 

“  Where  shall  I  find  Florence  ?  ”  said  he,  taking  his  hat. 

“  In  the  churchyard,  I  think,  beside  her  father’s  grave.” 

“  Say  nothing  to  her,  but  apparently  acquiesce  in  her 
plans  ;  and,  above  all,  do  not  let  her  dream  that  you  have 
told  me  these  things.” 

Ah,  Florence  !  who  may  presume  to  analyze  the  anguish 
of  your  tortured  heart  as  you  throw  yourself,  in  such  aban¬ 
donment  of  grief,  on  the  tomb  of  your  lost  parent  ?  The 
luxuriant  grass,  swaying  to  and  fro  in  the  chill  October 
blast,  well-nigh  concealed  the  bent  and  drooping  form,  as 
she  knelt  and  laid  her  head  on  the  cold  granite. 

“  My  father !  oh,  my  father !  ”  and  tears,  which  she  had 
not  shed  before,  fell  fast,  and  somewhat  eased  the  desolate, 
aching  heart.  Florence  had  not  wept  before  in  many  years  ; 
and  now  that  the  fountain  was  unsealed,  she  strove  not  to 
repress  the  tears  which  seemed  to  lift  and  bear  away  the 
heavy  weight  which  had  so  long  crushed  her  spirits. 

What  a  blessing  it  is  to  be  able  to  weep  ;  and  happy  are 
they  who  can  readily  give  vent  to  tears,  and  thus  exhaust 
their  grief  !  Such  can  never  realize  the  intensity  of  anguish 
which  other  natures  suffer — natures  to  whom  this  great 
relief  is  denied,  and  who  must  keep  the  withering,  scorching 
agony  pent  up  within  the  secret  chambers  of  their  desolate, ' 
aching  hearts.  Sobs  and  tears  are  not  for  these.  No,  no ; 
alone  and  in  darkness  they  must  wrestle  with  their  grief, 
crush  it  down  into  their  inmost  soul,  and  with  a  calm  exterior 
go  forth  to  meet  the  world.  But  ah !  the  flitting,  wintry 
smile,  the  short,  constrained  laugh,  the  pale  brow  marked 
with  lines  of  mental  anguish,  will  ofttimes,  tell  of  the  smolder¬ 
ing  ruin . 

“  My  daughter,  God  has  appointed  me  in  place  of  the 
parent  he  has  taken  hence ;  turn  to  me,  and  our  most  holy 
church,  and  you  will  find  comfort  such  as  naught  else  can 
afford.” 

Florence  sprung  to  her  feet,  and  shuddered  at  the  sound 
of  his  low,  soft  voice.  The  Padre  marked  the  shudder,  and 
the  uneasy  look  which  accompainied  it :  “  Padre,  I  have 
confessed,  and  I  have  prayed  to  almost  every  saint  in  the 


9° 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 


Calendar,  and  I  have  had  your  prayers  in  addition  to  my 
own  ;  yet  I  find  no  comfort.  No  joy  has  stolen  to  my  heart, 
as  you  promised  it  inevitably  would. ” 

“  My  daughter,  if  peace  has  not  descended  on  thy  spirit, 
I  fear  you  have  not  been  devout.  Tell  me  truly  if  you  have 
not  doubted  in  matters  of  faith,  for  our  most  holy  Mother 
ever  grants  the  prayers  of  her  faithful  and  loving  children  ?  ” 

“  I  have  searched  the  Bible,  and  I  nowhere  find  authority 
for  invoking  saints  or  the  Virgin.” 

“  I  can  convince  you,  without  doubt,  that  there  is  such 
authority — nay,  command.” 

“  ’Tis  useless,  you  may  save  yourself  the  trouble  ;  for  my 
mind  is  clearly  made  up  that  we  have  not  even  the  sanction 
of  the  Fathers.” 

“  Holy  Mary,  pardon  her  unbelief,  and  send  down  light 
into  her  darkened  soul !  ” 

Florence  fixed  her  eyes  full  upon  him,  and  replied — 
“  Christ  expressly  declares  ‘  I  am  the  light,  I  am  the  life/  ” 

“  Daughter,  your  heretic  cousin  has  done  you  a  great 
injury.  May  God  protect  you,  and  forgive  her  blasphemy.” 

“  She  needs  no  forgiveness,  for  she  is  pure  in  heart  before 
God,  and  truthful  in  all  things. 

The  swarthy  cheek  of  the  Italian  flushed — “  Florence,  you 
and  your  aunt  must  come  and  stay  at  my  house  till  it  is 
safe  here  ;  and,  I  doubt  not  when  you  are  at  leisure  to  hear 
me,  you  will  duly  repent  your  hasty  speeches.  I  shall  pray 
God  and  our  Lady  to  give  you  a  more  trusting,  believing 
heart,  and  intercede  with  the  blessed  saints  for  your  entire 
conversion.” 

“Not  so,  Father  Mazzolin  ;  we  shall  leave  this  place  in 
a  very  few  days,  and  I  have  come  to  bid  adieu  to  the  grave 
of  my  father  :  leave  me,  for  I  wish  to  be  alone  and  in  peace.” 

“  Do  you  doubt  my  will  or  ability  to  protect  you,  my 
daughter  ?  Beneath  my  roof  no  danger  can  assail.” 

“  We  have  fully  decided  to  go  from  here,  and  further 
reasoning  or  entreaty  would  be  vain  ;  accept,  however,  my 
thanks  for  your  proffered  kindness.” 

“  Girl,  you  have  gone  too  far  !  Hear  me  while  I  am  plac¬ 
able,  for  I  tell  you  now,  without  my  consent,  you  cannot— 
shall  not  leave  here.” 

“  You  have  neither  right  nor  power  to  detain  me.” 


INEZ :  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


91 


“  Have  I  not  ?  I  swear,  if  you  do  not  hear  and  abide  by 
what  I  say,  your  father’s  soul  will  remain  forever  in  pur¬ 
gatory,  where  it  justly  belongs.” 

“  How  dare  you  make  so  miserable  a  threat  ?  ”  said  the 
calm,  clear  voice  of  Mary,  who  had  approached  unobserved. 

“  Cursed  believer  in  a  cursed  creed,  what  do  you  here  ? 
Begone,  or  dread  the  vengeance  I  shall  surely  inflict  on  so 
blasphemous  and  damnable  a  heretic  !  ” 

Winding  her  arm  tightly  about  Florence’s  waist,  she  re¬ 
plied — “  ‘  Vengeance  is  mine,  saith  the  Lord.  I  will  repay  ; 9 
and  though  I  have  never  injured  you,  Padre — even  if  I  had, 
it  ill  becomes  a  consecrated  priest  to  utter  such  language,  or 
so  madly  to  give  vent  to  passion.” 

“  Silence  !  ”  thundered  the  Padre,  livid  with  rage ;  “  I 
will  compass  heaven  and  earth  rather  than  you  shall  escape 
me.” 

“  Come,  Florry,  this  is  no  place  for  us  now  ;  even  the 
churchyard  is  not  sacred.  Come  home.” 

“  Florence,  dare  you  curse  your  own  father  ?  ”  The  girl’s 
lips  quivered,  but  no  sound  came  forth — she  seemed 
stunned. 

“  You  would  usurp  the  prerogatives  of  Jehovah,  Father 
Mazzolin  ;  but  your  threat  is  vain.  You  cannot  bless  or 
damn  my  uncle  at  will.  How  dare  you,  guilty  as  you  are, 
hold  such  impious  language  ?  ” 

For  a  moment  he  quailed  before  the  calm,  unflinching 
girl,  then  seizing  Florence’s  arm,  hoarsely  exclaimed  :  “  One 
more  chance  I  give  you.  Florence,  I  am  your  brother — 
your  father,  my  father.  On  his  death-bed  he  confessed  his 
sins  and  discovered  his  son.” 

A  deep  groan  burst  from  Florence’s  lips,  and  her  slender 
frame  quivered  like  a  reed  in  a  wintry  blast.  The  Padre 
laid  his  head  on  the  granite  slab  which  covered  the  remains 
of  Mr.  Hamilton,  and  continued  :  “  I  call  God  in  heaven, 
and  all  the  saints  to  witness  the  truth  of  what  I  say,  and 
if  I  prove  it  not,  may  I  sink  into  perdition.  When  your 
father  was  yet  young,  he  made  the  tour  of  Europe.  Traveling 
in  Italy,  he  met  at  Florence  a  poor  but  beautiful  girl ;  and 
she,  struck,  in  turn,  by  the  handsome  face  of  the  stranger, 
left  her  humble  home,  and  listened  to  the  voice  of  seduction. 
He  remained  five  months  at  Florence,  and  then  suddenly 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 


92 

left  Italy  for  his  native  country,  without  apprising  the  un« 
fortunate  woman  of  his  intentions.  Hatred  succeeded  to 
love,  and  she  vowed  vengeance.  That  woman  was  my 
mother  ;  and  when  ten  years  had  passed,  she  told  me  my  paren¬ 
tage,  and  made  me  swear  on  the  altar  of  her  patron  saint  that 
I  would  fulfil  her  vow  of  vengeance.  She  died,  and  I  be¬ 
came  a  priest  of  Rome,  and  in  time  was  sent  by  my  order  to 
Mexico,  and  thence  here  to  assist  my  aged  and  infirm  pre¬ 
decessor.  I  had  in  my  possession  a  miniature  of  my  father, 
and  no  sooner  had  I  met  him  here  than  I  recognized  the  base 
being  who  had  deserted  my  mother.  I  kept  my  peace  ;  but 
ere  he  died,  he  confessed  that  one  sin — heavier  than  every¬ 
thing  beside — weighed  on  his  conscience.  In  the  agony 
and  remorse  of  that  hour  my  mother  was  revenged.  I  told 
my  parentage,  and  he  discovered  his  child.  Feeling  that  I 
was  your  brother,  he  bade  you  remain  here,  claim  my  protec¬ 
tion,  and  follow  my  advice.  But,  Florence,  hear  me — your 
misery  touched  my  heart ;  a  kindred  feeling  for  you  made 
me  desire  to  serve  you ;  but  I  swear  now  that  if  you  hear  not 
my  voice,  and  return  to  the  bosom  of  our  church,  your 
father’s  soul  shall  linger  in  damnation,  and  my  vengeance 
shall  follow  you.  You  know  not  my  power,  and  wo  to  you 
if  you  defy  me  !  ” 

Had  the  specter-form  of  the  deceased,  leaving  the  shadowy 
band  of  the  spirit- world,  risen  on  the  granite  slab  before  them 
the  two  girls  could  not  have  been  more  startled.  Tightly 
they  clung  one  to  another,  their  eyes  riveted  on  the  face  of 
the  Padre.  There  was  a  long  pause ;  then  Florence  lifted 
herself  proudly  up,  and  cold  and  haughty  was  her  tone : 
“  It  is  not  for  me  to  deny  your  statement.  If  my  father 
sinned,  peace  to  his  memory,  and  may  God  forgive  him. 
One  so  sinful  and  malignant  as  yourself  cannot  be  invested 
with  divine  prerogatives.  I  have  known  your  intentions 
with  regard  to  myself  since  the  hour  I  knelt  in  confession. 
I  was  destined  for  a  convent,  and  I  tacitly  acquiesced  in 
your  plans,  hoping  that  so  secluded  from  the  world  I  should 
be  comparatively  happy  ;  but  my  feelings  are  changed  on 
many  points,  and  any  further  interference  from  you  will  be 
received  with  the  scorn  it  merits.  No  love  for  me  actuates 
your  movements,  else  you  would  have  spared  me  the  suffer¬ 
ing  of  this  .houar-” 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 


93 


u  You  defy  me,  then  ?  ” 

Florence  had  turned  away,  and  heeded  not  his  question ; 
but  Mary,  clasping  her  hands,  looked  appealingly  in  his  face  ; 
« Oh,  Padre,  by  the  tie  which  you  declare  exists  between 
yourself  and  Florry — for  the  sake  of  your  lost  parent — do 
not  put  your  threat  in  execution.  Spare  an  unprotected 
orphan.  You  will  not  harm  your  sister  !  ” 

“  Know  you  not,  girl,  that  when  a  Jesuit  priest  takes 
the  oath  of  his  order,  he  tears  his  heart  from  his  breast 
and  lays  it  at  the  feet  of  his  superior  ?  Appeal  not  to  ties 
of  relationship :  we  repudiate  them,  and  pity  is  unknown 
among  us.” 

With  a  shudder  Mary  joined  her  cousin,  and  rapidly  and 
in  perfect  silence  they  retraced  their  steps  homeward. 
When  they  reached  their  gate,  Mary  would  have  opened  it, 
but  her  cousin,  taking  her  hand,  led  the  way  to  their  old 
seat  beside  the  river. 

Florence  seated  herself  as  near  the  water  as  possible, 
and  then  tightly  clasping  the  hand  she  held,  asked  in  a 
voice  of  suppressed  emotion ;  “  Tell  me,  Mary,  is  there  a 
purgatory  ?  ” 

“  No,  Florry  ;  I  think  there  is  less  foundation  for  that 
doctrine  than  any  advanced  by  your  church.” 

“  Mary,  you  speak  truth,  and  all  that  you  say  I  can 
implicitly  believe.  Tell  me  what  grounds  support  the 
theory  ?  ” 

“  You  remember  the  words  of  our  Saviour.  i  All  sin  shall 
be  forgiven,  save  blasphemy  of  the  Holy  Ghost ;  that  shall 
not  be  forgiven,  either  in  this  world  or  the  next/  Now 
Papists  argue  in  this  way :  Then  other  sins  can  be  forgiven 
in  another  world ;  there  is  no  sin  in  heaven,  in  hell  no  for¬ 
giveness,  consequently,  there  must  exist  a  middle  place,  or, 
in  other  words,  a  purgatory.  Florry,  you  smile,  yet  I  assure 
you  I  have  seen  this  advanced  as  unanswerable.  In  the 
book  of  Maccabees  is  a  very  remarkable  passage  authorizing 
prayers  for  the  dead,  and  on  this  passage  they  build  their 
theory  and  sanction  their  practise.  Yet  you  know  full  well 
it  is  one  of  the  Apocryphal  books  rejected  by  the  Jews,  be¬ 
cause  not  originally  written  in  their  language.  It  was  never 
quoted  by  our  Saviour,  nor  even  received  as  inspired  by 
your  own  church  till  the  Council  of  Trent,  when  it  was  ad- 


94 


INEZ :  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMh, 

mitted  to  substantiate  the  doctrine  of  purgatory,  and  sanction 
prayers  for  the  dead.  I  admit  that  on  this  point  St.  Augus¬ 
tine’s  practise  was  in  favor  of  it ;  though  it  was  only  near 
the  close  of  his  long  life  that  he  speaks  of  the  soul  of  his 
mother.  Yet  already  history  informs  us  that  the  practise  of 
praying  for  the  dead  was  gaining  ground  in  the  church,  along 
with  image  worship.  St.  Cyprian,  who  lived  long  before 
him,  and  during  a  purer  state  of  the  church,  leaves  no  doubt 
on  our  minds  as  to  his  sentiments  on  this  subject ;  his  words 
are  these  :  4  When  ye  depart  hence,  there  will  be  no  room 
for  repentance — no  method  of  being  reconciled  to  God.  Here 
eternal  life  is  either  lost  or  won.  Here,  by  the  worship  of 
God,  and  the  fruit  of  faith,  provision  is  made  for  eternal 
salvation.  And  let  no  man  be  retarded,  either  by  his  sins 
or  years,  from  coming  to  obtain  it.  No  repentance  is  too 
late  while  a  man  remains  in  this  world.’  Our  Saviour  no¬ 
where  gives  any  encouragement  for  such  a  doctrine.  On 
the  contrary,  he  said  to  the  dying  thief :  4  This  day  shalt 
thou  be  with  me  in  Paradise.’  I  know  of  no  other  argu¬ 
ment  which  Papists  advance  in  favor  of  their  darling  theory, 
save  the  practise  of  the  latter  Fathers  of  their  church.” 

44  Mary,  I  cannot  believe  this  doctrine,  without  further 
proof  of  Divine  sanction.” 

44  Indeed,  Florry,  I  know  of  no  other  reason  in  its  favor, 
and  have  long  supposed  it  a  system  of  extortion  in  connec¬ 
tion  with  indulgences,  now  used  only  as  a  means  of  gain 
by  the  dissolute  clergy  of  the  Romish  faith.  I  need  scarcely 
say,  that  the  abuse  of  this  latter  doctrine  drove  Luther  to 
reformation.  It  is  a  well-known  fact,  that  in  the  i6th  cen¬ 
tury,  Tetzel,  a  Dominican  monk  high  in  his  order,  drove 
through  Germany  in  a  wagon,  containing  two  boxes — one 
holding  indulgences,  the  other  the  money  received  for 
them.  You  will  smile,  Florry,  when  I  repeat  a  translation 
of  the  German  lines  written  on  the  outside  of  the  latter 
box : 

“  ‘  When  in  this  chest  the  money  rings, 

The  soul  straight  up  to  heaven  springs. 

Yet  the  boldness  and  audacity  of  his  general  language  was 
quite  in  accordance  :  4  Indulgences,’  said  he,  4  are  the  most 
precious  of  God’s  gifts.  I  would  not  exchange  my  privi- 


INEZ :  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


95 


leges  for  those  of  St.  Peter  in  heaven  ;  for  I  have  saved 
more  souls  with  my  indulgences  than  he  with  all  his  ser¬ 
mons.  There  is  no  sin  so  great  that  the  indulgence  will  not 
remit  it.  Even  repentance  is  not  necessary.  Indulgences 
save  the  dead ;  for  the  very  moment  the  money  chinks 
against  the  bottom  of  this  chest,  the  soul  escapes  from  pur¬ 
gatory,  and  flies  to  heaven.’ 

“  Yet  this  inquisitor  was  high  in  favor  with  Pope  Leo  X. 
You  will  say,  Florry,  that  the  abuse  of  a  doctrine  should  be 
no  test  of  its  soundness ;  and  I  admit  that  had  he  received 
the  punishment  he  so  richly  merited  it  would  not ;  yet  this 
is  only  one  instance  among  many.  We  have  conversed  on 
the  doctrines  of  the  Romish  faith  merely  as  theories,  should 
we  not  now  look  at  the  practise  ?  We  need  not  go  very  far. 
When  Aunt  Fanny  expressed  surprise  on  seeing  our  Mexican 
shepherd  eat  meat  last  Friday,  did  he  not  reply  in  extenua¬ 
tion,  4  I  have  paid  the  priest  and  can  eat  meat  ’  ?  Now  if  it 
was  necessary  for  him  to  abstain  previously,  could  the  small 
sum  paid  to  the  Padre  exempt  him  from  the  duty  ?  Again 
we  see  the  working  of  the  system  :  was  not  Herrara  scrupu¬ 
lously  exact  on  the  same  point  ?  yet  he  rose  from  the  table 
and  told*  a  most  positive  lie.  With  regard  to  indulgences, 
there  is  not  a  Papist  who  will  admit  that  they  are  a  license 
to  sin.  The  voice  of  history  declares  that  4  a  regular  scale 
for  absolution  was  graded,'  and  the  fact  is  authenticated  by 
a  recent  traveler,  who  asserts  that  in  the  chancel  of  Santa 
Croce,  at  Rome,  is  hung  a  catalogue  of  the  indulgences 
granted  to  all  who  worship  in  that  church.  Yet  your  priests 
will  tell  you  they  are  the  remission  of  sins  already  committed. 
Did  not  Herrara  say,  4  I  have  paid  the  Padre  and  can  eat 
meat  ’  ?  Now  I  ask  you  if  this  is  not  a  license  to  commit 
what  would  otherwise  be  considered  a  heinous  offense  by  all 
devout  Papists  ?  ” 

44  Relying  implicitly  on  what  the  Padre  asserted,  Mary,  I 
have  never  investigated  these  subjects  as  I  should  have  done, 
before  giving  my  credence  and  support ;  but  of  the  doctrine 
in  question  I  can  henceforth  entertain  but  one  opinion — a 
detestable  and  infamous  method  of  filling  the  papal  coffers  ; 
for  since  you  have  led  me  to  think  on  this  subject,  I  clearly 
remember  that  a  large  portion  of  the  enormous  expense  in¬ 
curred  by  the  building,  ornamenting,  and  repairing  of  St. 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


96 

Peter’s,  was  defrayed  by  money  obtained  through  the  sale 
of  indulgences.  Oh,  Mary,  how  could  I  have  been  so  de¬ 
luded — allowed  myself  to  be  so  deceived  !  ”  She  took  from 
her  pocket  the  rosary  and  crucifix  which  had  been  given  to 
her  father,  and  threw  them  impatiently  into  the  river  gurg¬ 
ling  at  her  feet. 

“  The  perfect  harmony  with  which  the  entire  system 
works  is  unparalleled  in  the  civil,  religious,  or  political  an¬ 
nals  of  the  world.  A  complete  espionage  is  exercised  in 
papal  countries,  from  the  Adriatic  to  the  Californian  gulf. 
And  the  greater  portion  of  this  is  accomplished  by  means  of 
the  confessional.  The  Superior  at  Rome  can  become,  at 
pleasure,  as  perfectly  conversant  with  your  domestic  ar¬ 
rangements,  and  the  thousand  incidents  which  daily  occur, 
as  you  or  I,  who  are  cognizant  of  them.  To  what  is  all  this 
tending  ?  Ah,  Florry,  look  at  the  blood-stained  records  of 
the  past.  The  voices  of  slaughtered  thousands,  borne  to  us 
across  the  waste  of  centuries,  bid  us  remember  the  Duke  of 
Alva,  the  Albigensian  crusade,  the  massacre  of  St.  Bartholo¬ 
mew,  and  the  blazes  of  Smithfield.  Ignatius  Loyola !  happy 
would  it  have  been  for  millions  lost,  and  millions  yet  to  be, 
hadst  thou  perished  at  the  siege  of  Pampeluna.  Florry, 
contrast  Italy  and  Germany,  Spain  and  Scotland,  and  look 
at  Portugal,  and  South  America,  and  Mexico,  and  oh,  look 
at  this  benighted  town !  A  fairer  spot  by  nature  the  face  of 
earth  cannot  boast ;  yet  mark  the  sloth,  the  penury,  the  deg¬ 
radation  of  its  people,  the  misery  that  prevails.  And  why  ? 
Because  they  languish  under  the  iron  rule  of  the  papal  see 
— iron,  because  it  admits  of  no  modification.  Entire  suprem¬ 
acy  over  both  body  and  soul,  or  total  annihilation  of  their 
power.  May  the  time  speedily  come  when  they  shall  spurn 
their  oppressors,  and  trample  their  yoke  in  the  dust,  as  their 
transatlantic  brethren  will  ultimately  do.  Oh,  Florry,  does 
not  your  heart  yearn  toward  benighted  Italy  ?  Italy,  once  so 
beautiful  and  noble — once  the  acknowledged  mistress  of  the 
world,  as  she  sat  in  royal  magnificence  enthroned  on  her 
seven  hills ;  now  a  miserable  waste,  divided  between  petty 
sovereigns,  and  a  by-word  for  guilt  and  degradation !  The 
glorious  image  lies  a  ruin  at  our  feet :  for  the  spirit  that 
gave  beauty  and  strength,  and  shed  a  halo  of  splendor 
round  its  immortal  name,  has  fled  afar,  perhaps  forever ; 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO .  9* 

banished  by  the  perfidious  system  of  Papacy — that  sworn 
foe  to  liberty,  ecclesiastical  or  political. 

“  How  incomprehensible  the  apathy  with  which  the 
English  regard  the  promulgation  of  Puseyism  in  their 
church !  It  is  stealing  silently  but  swiftly  to  the  very 
heart  of  their  ecclesiastical  institutions,  and  total  subversion 
will  ultimately  ensue.  That  Americans  should  contem¬ 
plate  without  apprehension  the  gradual  increase  of  papal 
power  is  not  so  astonishing,  for  this  happy  land  has  never 
groaned  beneath  its  iron  sway.  But  that  the  descendants 
of  Latimer  and  of  Ridley,  of  Hooper  and  of  Cranmer, 
should  tamely  view  the  encroachments  of  this  monster 
hydra,  is  strange  indeed.  Do  not  imagine,  Florry,  that  I 
doubt  the  sincerity  of  all  who  belong  to  the  Church  of 
Rome.  I  know  and  believe  that  there  are  many  earnest 
and  conscientious  members — of  this  there  cannot  be  a 
doubt ;  yet  it  is  equally  true,  that  the  most  devoted  Papists 
are  to  be  found  among  the  most  ignorant,  bigoted,  and 
superstitious  of  men.  The  masses  of  your  church  are 
deceived  with  pretended  miracles  and  wondrous  legends, 
such  as  the  one  currently  reported  respecting  the  holy 
house  of  Loretto,  which  seems  so  migratory,  and  flies 
hundreds  of  miles  in  a  night.  These  marvelous  tales  are 
credited  by  the  uneducated ;  yet  no  enlightened  man  or 
woman  of  the  present  age,  who  has  fully  investigated  this 
subject,  can  say  with  truth  that  they  conscientiously  believe 
the  doctrines  of  the  Romish  Church  to  be  those  taught  by 
our  Saviour,  or  its  practises  in  accordance  with  the  general 
tenor  of  the  Bible.  This  may  seem  a  broad  assertion,  yet 
none  who  calmly  consider  the  subject  in  all  its  bearings, 
and  consult  the  page  of  history,  will  pronounce  it  a  hasty 
one.” 

“  Yet  remember,  Mary,  that  the  sect  in  question  is 
proverbial  for  charitable  institutions.  One  vital  principle 
is  preserved.  Surely  this  is  a  redeeming  virtue.  Catho¬ 
lics  are  untiring  in  schemes  of  benevolence  and  philan¬ 
thropy.  ” 

“  You  will  start,  and  perhaps  condemn  me,  when  I 
reply,  that  their  boasted  charity  is  but  the  mask  behind 
which  they  disseminate  the  doctrines  of  the  Romish 
Church.  I  may  appear  ve^r  up Stable  in  the  ex- 

7 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


98 

pression  of  this  opinion ;  yet  hear  me,  Florry  ;  facts  are 
incontrovertible.  If  you  will  think  a  moment,  you  cannot 
fail  to  remember  Patrick,  the  porter  at  our  friend  Mrse 

D - ’s.  Having  received  a  dangerous  wound  in  his  foot, 

he  was  sent  to  the  hospital,  where  several  of  the  nurses 
were  Sisters  of  Charity.  He  remained  nearly  a  month, 

and  on  his  return  related  to  Mrs.  D - ,  in  my  presence, 

some  of  the  circumstances  of  his  long  illness.  His  words 
made  a  lasting  impression  on  my  mind : 

“  4  Indeed,  and  I  am  glad  enough  to  come  home,  ma’am; 
for  never  was  I  treated  worse  in  my  life.  The  first  week 
Sister  Agnes,  who  nursed  in  my  room,  was  kind  and  tender 
as  could  be,  and  thought  I,  if  ever  angels  come  to  earth, 
this  good  woman  is  one ;  but  I  can  tell  ye  I  did  not  think 
so  long :  she  read  some  saints’  lives  to  us,  and  asked  me  if 
I  was  a  Catholic.  I  said  no,  I  was  no  Catholic.  Then  she 
tried  every  way  to  make  me  one,  and  told  me  if  I  refused  I 
would  surely  die  and  go  to  purgatory.  Faith  !  the  more 
she  talked  that  way  the  more  I  wouldn’t  be  a  Catholic ;  and 
then  she  just  let  me  alone,  and  not  another  thing  would  she 
do  for  me.  I  might  call  from  then  till  now,  and  never  a 
step  would  she  come,  or  nurse  me  a  bit.  It  is  no  good  care 
of  hers  that  has  brought  me  back  alive  and  well :  I  tell 
you,  Sister  Agnes  won’t  do  for  any  but  Catholics.’ 

44  Florry,  is  such  charity  akin  to  that  taught  by  the  Bible  ? 
Catholics  boast  of  their  asylums  ;  and  by  means  of  fairs  and 
suppers,  large  amounts  are  annually  collected  for  the  sup¬ 
port  of  these  numerous  institutions.  I  have  been  told  by  a 
directress  of  a  Protestant  orphan  asylum,  that  on  one  oc¬ 
casion  a  squalid  woman,  accompanied  by  two  boys,  pre¬ 
sented  herself  and  entreated  that  her  children  might  be 
received  into  the  asylum.  The  unhappy  mother  informed 
the  directress  that  she  was  a  Roman  Catholic,  and  had 
claimed  the  protection  of  her  own  sect ;  but,  said  she,  tear¬ 
fully,  4  Indeed  I  had  no  money  to  pay  for  their  entrance, 
and  they  refused  to  take  my  children.’ 

44  Such,  Florry,  is  their  boasted  charity ;  and  I  might  add, 
their  lives  are  little  in  accordance  wTith  the  spirit  inculcated 
by  our  Saviour,  who  said,  4  When  ye  do  your  alms,  let  not 
your  left  hand  know  what  your  right  hand  doeth.5  There  are 
thousands  who  daily  dispense  charities  of  various  kinds \ 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 


99 


yet  they  do  not  term  themselves  Sisters  of  Charity,  neither 
promenade  the  streets  in  a  garb  so  antiquated  and  peculiar 
as  to  excite  attention,  or  elicit  encomiums  on  their  marvel¬ 
ously  holy  lives  and  charitable  deeds.  Do  not  suppose, 
Florry,  because  I  speak  thus,  that  I  doubt  the  sincerity  of 
all  who  enroll  themselves  as  Sisters.  I  do  believe  that 
there  are  many  pious  and  conscientious  women  thus  en- 
engaged  ;  yet  they  are  but  tools  of  the  priests,  and  by  them 
placed  in  these  institutions  for  the  purpose  of  making  pros¬ 
elytes.” 

A  pause  ensued,  and  Florence  paced  slowly  along  the 
bank.  Somewhat  abruptly  she  replied  : 

“  Yet  you  will  admit,  Mary,  that  we  owe  much  to  the  monks, 
by  whose  efforts  light  and  knowledge  were  preserved  during 
the  dark  ages  ?  But  for  them  every  vestige  of  literature, 
every  record  of  the  past,  would  inevitably  have  been  lost.” 

“  Tell  me,  Florry,  what  caused  the  dark  ages?  Was  it 
not  the  gradual  withdrawal  of  light  and  [knowledge — the 
crushing,  withering  influence  exerted  on  the  minds  of  men  ? 
And  tell  me  if  this  influence  was  not  wielded  by  the  priests 
of  Rome — corrupted,  fallen  Rome  ?  During  the  dark  pe¬ 
riod  in  question,  papal  power  was  at  its  height ;  the  thun¬ 
ders  of  the  Vatican  were  echoed  from  the  Adriatic  to  the 
Atlantic — from  the  Mediterranean  to  the  North  Sea.  An 
interdict  of  its  profligate  Pope  clothed  cities,  and  kingdoms, 
and  empires  in  mourning;  the  churches  were  closed,  the 
dead  unburied,  and  no  rite,  save  that  of  baptism,  performed. 
Ignorance  and  superstition  reigned  throughout  the  world ; 
and  it  is  said,  that  in  the  ninth  century  scarce  a  person  was 
to  be  found  in  Rome  itself  who  knew  even  the  alphabet. 
Yet  monasteries  crowned  every  eminence,  and  dotted  the 
vales  of  southern  Europe.  The  power  of  the  priesthood 
was  supreme.  Florry,  I  do  admit  that  what  remained  of 
light  and  learning  was  hid  in  the  cell  of  the  anchorite ;  not 
disseminated,  but  effectually  concealed.  They  forgot  our 
Saviour’s  injunction — 4  Let  your  light  shine  before  men/ 
Oh  !  Florry,  did  not  the  teachers  of  the  dark  ages  put  their 
light  under  a  bushel  ?  Dark  ages  will  ever  follow  the  in¬ 
crease  of  papal  power.  It  is  part  of  their  system  to  keep 
the  masses  in  ignorance.  How  truly  it  has  been  said  that 
Rome  asked  but  one  thing,  and  that  Luther  denied  her — 


IOO 


INEZ :  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 


‘  A  fulcrum  of  ignorance  on  which  to  rest  that  lever  by  which 
she  can  balance  the  world.’  They  dare  not  allow  their 
people  light  and  knowledge  ;  and  what  to  others  was  in¬ 
deed  a  dark  age,  is  regarded  by  the  priests  of  Rome  as  a 
golden  season.  Can  you  point  to  a  single  papal  country 
which  is  not  enveloped  in  the  black  cloud  of  superstition 
and  crime?  To  Italy,  and  Spain,  and  Portugal,  the  dark 
ages  have  not  passed  away  ;  neither  will  they,  till  liberty  of 
conscience  is  allowed,  and  the  Bible  permitted  in  the  hands 
of  the  laity.  Under  papal  rule,  those  unfortunate  nations 
will  never  rise  from  their  degradation  ;  for  their  masters  and 
teachers  ‘  love  darkness  rather  than  light,  because  their  deeds 
are  evil.’  It  has  often  been  said  by  those  who  fail  properly 
to  consider  this  subject,  that  the  Roman  Catholic  schools 
and  colleges  which  abound  in  the  United  States  are  far  su¬ 
perior  to  similar  Protestant  institutions.  Why  do  not  these 
very  superior  teachers  disseminate  knowledge  at  home? 
Why  do  they  not  first  enlighten  the  Spaniards  ere  they  cross 
the  Atlantic  to  instruct  American  pupils  ?  The  ignorance 
of  Neapolitans  is  proverbial;  yet  Naples  is  the  peculiarly 
favored  city  of  Romanism.  Tell  me  why  these  learned  pro¬ 
fessors  do  not  teach  their  own  people  ?  Florry,  papal  in¬ 
stitutions  in  America  are  but  branches  of  the  Propaganda. 
They  but  come  to  proselyte.  I  have  heard  it  repeatedly 
averred  of  a  certain  nunnery,  c  that  no  efforts  were  made  to 
affect  the  religious  views  of  the  pupils.’  Yet  I  know  that 
such  is  not  the  case.  They  are  far  too  politic  openly  to 
attack  the  religion ;  yet  secretly  it  is  undermined.  I  will 
tell  you  how,  Florry,  for  you  look  wonderingly  at  me.  Prizes 
are  awarded  for  diligence,  and  application  ;  and  these  prizes 
are  books,  setting  forth  in  winning  language  the  doctrines  of 
their  church.  I  have  seen  one  of  these  which  was  given  to 

M - K - ,  and  I  also  read  it  most  carefully.  It  was 

titled  ‘Alethea;  or,  a  Defense  of  Catholic  Doctrines.’  Yet 
most  indignantly  they  deny  any  attempts  toward  proselyting 
the  pupils  intrusted  to  their  care.” 

“  Who  will  deny  the  truth  of  your  statements,  Mary ! 
Yet,  if  such  are  the  facts,  how  can  the  world  be  so  utterly 
ignorant  of,  or  indifferent  to  them  ?  Strange  that  they  can 
thus  regard  a  subject  so  fraught  with  interest  to  every 
lover  of  liberty — -to  every  patriot.” 


JNEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 


101 


“  Florry,  Papists  are  unacquainted  with  these  things  ;  for* 
begirt  with  darkening,  crushing  influence,  they  are  effectually 
secluded  from  even  a  wandering  ray  of  light  on  this  subject. 
The  avenue  through  which  all  information  is  conveyed  at 
the  present  day  is  barred  to  them.  Books  are  denied  to  the 
Catholic  laity.  You  may  ask  how  this  is  effected  in  this  en¬ 
lightened  and  liberal  age.  The  prelates  of  Rome,  who  long 
ago  resorted  to  ignorance  as  their  bulwark,  are  ever  on  the 
alert.  No  sooner  is  a  new  publication  announced,  than  it  is 
most  carefully  perused  by  them ;  and  if  calculated  to  point 
out  the  fallacy  of  their  doctrines,  or  depict  their  abuse  of 
power,  a  papal  bull  is  forthwith  issued,  prohibiting  all  Catho¬ 
lics  from  reading  the  heretical  book.  The  writings  of  the 
prince  of  novelists,  Walter  Scott,  which  are  universally  read 
by  other  sects,  are  peremptorily  refused  to  all  Papists.  And 
why  ?  Because  many  of  his  darts  are  aimed  at  their  profli¬ 
gate  priesthood.  Now  if,  as  the}?  tell  their  people,  these  are 
but  slanderous  attacks  on  their  religion,  surely  the  shafts 
would  fall  harmless  on  the  armor  of  truth.  Why  then  so 
strenuously  oppose  their  reading  such  works  ?  Florry,  the 
trite  adage,  1  Truth  is  the  hardest  of  all  to  bear/  is  applicable 
to  these  prelates  of  papacy ;  who,  knowing  their  danger,  are 
fully  resolved  to  guard  the  avenues  of  light  and  knowledge. 
The  Pope  of  imperial  Rome,  surrounded  as  he  is  with  lux¬ 
ury,  magnificence,  and  hosts  of  scarlet-liveried  cardinals, 
who  stand  in  readiness  to  convey  his  mandates  to  the  re¬ 
motest  corners  of  the  earth,  has  been  made  to  tremble  on 
his  throne  by  the  pen  of  feeble  woman.  The  truthful  de¬ 
lineations  of  Charlotte  Elizabeth  startled  his  Holiness  of 
the  Vatican,  and  the  assistant  conclave  of  learned  cardinals 
are  trembling  lest  their  laity  of  the  Green  Isle  should  catch  a 
glimpse  of  light.  A  bull  was  quickly  fulminated  against  her 
heretical  productions.  Alas  I  when,  when  will  the  Romish 
Church  burst  the  iron  bands  which  begirt  her  ? 

“  The  world  at  large — I  mean  the  world  as  composed  of 
Protestants,  latitudinarians,  politicians,  statesmen,  and 
fashionable  dunces,  are  in  a  great  measure  acquainted  with 
these  facts;  but  knowing  the  rapidly  increasing  power  of 
papal  Rome,  and  the  vast  influence  already  wielded  in  this 
happy  land  by  its  priesthood,  they  prefer  to  float  along  with 
the  tide,  rather  than  vigorously  resist  this  blasting  system  of 


202 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


ignorance,  superstition,  and  crime  which,  stealthily  ap* 
proaching  from  the  east  and  from  the  west,  will  unite  and 
crush  the  liberties  of  our  glorious  Republic.  As  patriots, 
they  are  called  on  to  oppose  strenuously  its  every  encroach¬ 
ment — yet  they  dare  not ;  for  should  they  venture  to  de¬ 
claim  against  its  errors,  they  endanger  their  popularity  and 
Incur  the  risk  of  defeat  at  an  ensuing  election.  Florry,  I 
was  once  conversing  on  this  subject  with  a  lady  who  had 
recently  visited  Europe,  and  inquired  of  her  if  she  had  not 
marked  the  evils  and  abuses  which  existed  in  the  papal 
dominions  through  which  she  traveled.  She  whisperingly 
replied — ‘  Certainly,  my  dear,  I  could  not  fail  to  mark  the 
ignorance  and  degradation  which  prevailed,  but  I  never 
speak  of  it,  because,  you  know,  it  makes  one  very  unpopu¬ 
lar/  Here,  Florry,  you  have  the  clew  to  the  mystery. 
Americans  quietly  contemplate  this  momentous  subject,  and 
silently  view  the  abuses  which  are  creeping  into  our  com¬ 
munities,  because  if  they  expose  them,  it  is  at  the  hazard  of 
becoming  unpopular.7’ 

“  Mary,  can  I  ever,  ever  forget  that  hour  in  the  church¬ 
yard  ? 57  Florence  sadly  said,  as  they  rose  and  proceeded 
to  the  house.  “  Oh !  it  seems  branded  on  my  brain ;  yet 
I  must  cast  this  new  grief  from  me,  for  enough  of  anguish 
was  mine  before.  Still  I  feel  that  there  is  a  path  just  ahead, 
and  it  seems  lighted  up.  But  a  slight  barrier  intervenes, 
and  when  that  is  passed  all  will  be  well.  Pray  for  me,  Mary, 
that  I  may  be  enabled  to  lead  the  life  of  a  Christian,  and  at 
last  die  the  death  of  the  righteous.77 

Clasping  tightly  the  hand  which  rested  in  her  own,  Mary 
replied : 

“  While  life  remains,  it  shall  indeed  be  my  prayer  that 
you  may  be  blessed  on  earth,  and  rewarded  in  heaven.  Oh, 
Florry,  I  thank  God  that  the  scales  have  fallen  from  your 
eyes,  and  that  truth  shines  brightly  before  you.57  She 
stopped  suddenly,  and  pressed  her  hand  to  her  side,  while 
the  pale  brow  wrinkled  with  pain. 

“  I  have  been  talking  too  much,  there  is  a  suffocating 
sensation  here.77 

“  It  is  only  momentary,  I  hope.7' 

Mary  shook  her  head,  and  smiled  sadly :  “  I  don’t  know, 
Florry ;  I  have  felt  strangely  of  late.” 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


That  evening  as  the  household  were  busily  preparing  for 
their  intended  departure,  Dr.  Bryant  abruptly  entered,  and 
informed  them,  with  a  clouded  brow,  that  removal  was  im¬ 
possible,  as  he  could  not  procure  a  pair  of  horses  for  any 
price. 

“  It  is  perfectly  unaccountable  what  has  possessed  the 
Mexican  from  whom  I  purchased  as  many  as  I  thought 
necessary.  We  agreed  as  to  price,  and  they  were  to  be  sent 
this  afternoon ;  but  about  two  hours  ago,  he  came  to  me, 
and  declared  that  he  had  changed  his  mind,  and  would  not 
part  with  them.  I  offered  double  the  original  amount,  but  he 
said  money  was  no  inducement.  I  strove  to  borrow  or  hire  for 
any  given  time,  but  every  proposal  was  peremptorily  declined, 
and  as  it  is  impossible  to  leave  here,  I  came  over  to  entreat 
you  to  remain  with  my  sister,  at  least  for  a  few  days,  till  we 
can  determine  what  is  advisable  to  do.” 

His  proposal  was  accepted,  and  the  ensuing  day  saw  them 

inmates  of  Mrs.  Carlton’s. 

» 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

“We  're  the  sons  of  sires  that  baffled 
Crowned  and  mitered  tyranny  : 

They  defied  the  field  and  scaffold 

For  their  birth-rights — so  will  we  !  * 

Campbell. 

The  issue  of  the  engagement  of  the  8th  October  placed 
Goliad,  with  valuable  munitions,  in  the  hands  of  the  Texans. 
Many  and  joyous  acclamations  rose  from  their  camp,  hope 
beamed  on  every  face,  and  sanguine  expectations  were  en¬ 
tertained  of  a  speedy  termination  of  the  conflict.  Slowly 
the  little  band  proceeded  toward  Bexar,  receiving  daily 
accessions  from  headquarters,  and  girding  themselves  for  a 
desperate  struggle.  General  Cos,  fully  appreciating  the  im¬ 
portance  of  the  post  he  held,  made  active  preparation  for 
its  defense,  never  doubting,  however,  that  the  strong  fortifica¬ 
tions  01  the  Alamo  would  prove  impregnable  to  assailants  so 
feeble  numerically.  Under  the  direction  of  the  cautious 


T04  INEZ :  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 

Spaniard,  the  town  already  assumed  a  beleaguered  aspect* 
and  in  addition  to  the  watchman  stationed  on  the  observatory 
of  the  fortress,  a  sentinel  paced  to  and  fro  on  the  flat  roof 
of  the  gray  old  church,  having  orders  to  give  instant  alarm 
in  case  of  danger  by  the  ringing  of  the  several  bells.  Silver- 
haired  men,  bending  beneath  the  weight  of  years,  alone 
passed  along  the  deserted  streets,  and  augured  of  the  future 
in  the  now  silent  Plaza.  The  stores  were  closed,  and 
anxiously  the  few  Americans  awaited  the  result ;  rising  at 
dawn  with  the  belief  that  ere  twilight  closed  again  their 
suspense  would  be  terminated.  On  the  morning  of  the  28th 
the  booming  of  distant  artillery  was  borne  on  the  southern 
breeze.  With  throbbing  hearts  the  inhabitants  gathered 
about  their  doors,  and  strained  their  eyes  toward  the  south. 
A  large  body  of  Mexicans,  availing  themselves  of  the  cover 
of  night,  sallied  from  the  Alamo,  hoping  to  cut  off  a  squad 
of  ninety-two  men,  who,  leaving  the  main  body  of  the  Texan 
army,  had  advanced  for  the  purpose  of  reconnoitering,  and 
were  posted  at  the  old  Mission  of  Conception,  some  two 
miles  below  the  town ;  and  here  the  contest  was  waged. 
The  watchman  on  the  church  listened  intently  as  each  re¬ 
port  reached  his  ear,  and  kept  his  fingers  firmly  on  the  bell- 
rope.  An  hour  passed  on,  and  the  sun  rode  high  in  heaven ; 
gradually  the  thundering  died  away.  Quicker  grew  the 
breathing,  and  tighter  the  cold  fingers  clasped  each  other. 
The  last  sound  ceased :  a  deathlike  silence  reigned  through¬ 
out  the  town,  and  many  a  cheek  grew  colorless  as  marble. 
There  came  a  confused  sound  of  shouts — the  mingling  of 
many  voices — the  distant  tramp  of  cavalry  ;  and  then  there 
fell  on  the  aching  ears  the  deep,  thrilling  tones  of  the  church 
bells. 

An  intervening  bend  in  the  river  was  quickly  passed, 
and  a  body  of  Mexican  cavalry  dashed  at  full  gallop  across 
the  plain,  nor  slackened  their  pace  till  secure  behind  the 
somber  walls  of  the  Alamo. 

At  intervals  of  every  few  moments,  small  squads  pushed 
in,  then  a  running  band  of  infantry,  and  lastly  a  solitary 
horseman,  reeling  in  his  saddle,  dripping  with  gore.  Madly 
his  wounded  horse  sprung  on,  when  just  as  the  fort  was 
gained,  his  luckless  rider  rolled  senseless  at  the  'entrance. 
One  deep  groan  was  echoed  from  church  to  fortress.  Vic* 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO .  105 

tory,  which  had  hovered  doubtful  o’er  the  bloody  field*  set¬ 
tled  at  last  on  the  banner  of  the  “  Lone  Star.”  Against 
what  fearful  odds  is  victory  ofttimes  won  !  The  intrepid 
Texans,  assaulted  by  forces  which  trebled  their  own,  fought 
as  only  Texans  can.  With  unerring  precision  they  lifted 
their  rifles,  and  artillerymen  and  officers  rolled  together  in 
the  dust.  The  brave  little  band  conquered,  and  the  flying 
Mexicans  left  them  sole  masters  of  the  field  of  the  “  Horse¬ 
shoe.”  On  the  hill  which  rose  just  beyond  the  town  stood, 
in  bold  relief  against  the  eastern  sky,  a  tall  square  building, 
to  which  the  sobriquet  of  “  Powder-House  ”  was  applied. 
Here,  as  a  means  of  increased  vigilance,  was  placed  a  body 
of  horse,  for  the  purpose  o .  watching  the  plain  which  stretched 
along  the  river.  Fearing  every  moment  to  see  the  victorious 
Texans  at  the  heels  of  their  retreating  infantry,  they  had 
orders  to  dash  in,  at  the  first  glimpse  of  the  advance-guard 
of  the  enemy.  But  night  closed  and  none  appeared,  and, 
dreading  the  morning  light,  many  lay  down  to  sleep  at  the 
close  of  that  eventful  day.  Several  hours  elapsed,  and  then 
the  Texan  forces,  under  General  Burleson,  wound  across  the 
valley,  and  settled  along  the  verge  of  the  town.  The  Alania 
was  beleaguered. 

Forced,  as  it  were,  to  remain  a  witness  of  the  horrors  of 
the  then  approaching  conflict,  the  cousins  strove  to  cast 
from  them  the  gloomy  forebodings  which  crept  into  their 
hearts,  darkening  the  present  and  investing  the  future  with 
phantoms  of  terror.  Mrs.  Carlton  and  Mary  were  far  more 
hopeful  than  the  remainder  of  the  little  circle,  and  kept  up 
the  semblance  of  cheerfulness,  which  ever  flies  at  the  ap¬ 
proach  of  danger.  The  girls  saw  but  little  of  the  gentlemen, 
for  Mr.  Carlton  was  ever  out  in  search  of  tidings  from  the 
camp,  and  Frank,  in  opposition  to  his  sister’s  tearful  en¬ 
treaties,  had  enlisted  immediately  after  General  Burleson’s 
arrival.  His  manner,  during  his  brief  visits,  was  considerate 
and  kind  ;  yet  Mary  fancied  at  times  that  he  avoided  her, 
though,  marking  her  declining  health,  he  had  prescribed 
some  simple  remedy,  and  never  failed  to  inquire  if  she  were 
not  improving.  Still  there  was  a  certain  something,  inde¬ 
scribable,  yet  fully  felt,  which  made  her  shrink  from  meet¬ 
ing  him,  and  as  week  after  week  passed,  her  cheek  grew 
paler,  and  her  step  more  feeble. 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


106 

With  an  anxious  heart,  Mrs.  Carlton  watched  her  failing 
strength  ;  but  to  all  inquiries  and  fears  Mary  replied  that 
she  did  not  suffer,  save  from  her  cough,  and  for  a  time  dis¬ 
pelled  her  apprehensions. 

One  evening  Mary  stood  leaning  against  the  window, 
looking  earnestly,  wistfully  upon  the  beautiful  tints  which 
ever  linger  in  the  western  sky.  She  stretched  her  arms  to¬ 
ward  the  dim  outline,  murmuring  slowly : 

“  Oh !  that  my  life  may  fade  away  as  gently  as  those 
tints,  and  that  I  may  at  last  rest  on  the  bosom  of  my  God.” 

Darkness  closed  around — the  soft  hues  melted  into  the 
deep  blue  of  the  zenith  as  she  stood  communing  with  her 
own  heart,  and  she  started  when  a  shawl  was  wrapped  about 
her,  and  the  window  closed. 

“  As  ministering  physician,  I  cannot  allow  such  neglect 
of  injunctions.  How  dare  you  expose  yourself  after  my  ex¬ 
press  direction  to  keep  close  ?  ” 

“  I  have  kept  very  closely  all  day,  and  did  not  know  that 
star-gazing  was  interdicted.” 

As  she  spoke,  a  violent  fit  of  coughing  succeeded ;  he 
watched  her  anxiously. 

“  Do  you  suffer  any  acute  pain  ?  ” 

“  Occasionally  I  do  ;  but  nothing  troubles  me  so  much  as 
an  unpleasant  fluttering  about  my  heart,  which  I  often  have.” 

“  You  must  be  very  careful,  or  your  cough  will  increase  as 
winter  comes  on.” 

Mary  repressed  a  sigh  which  struggled  up  from  her  heart, 
and  inquired  if  there  was  any  news. 

“We  cannot  learn  exactly  what  is  transpiring  within  the 
Alamo,  but  feel  assured  the  crisis  is  at  hand  ;  some  excite¬ 
ment  has  prevailed  in  the  garrison  all  day,  and  it  is  confi¬ 
dently  expected  in  our  camp  that  the  assault  will  soon  be 
made.” 

“  Oh !  may  God  help  you  in  the  coming  strife,  and  ad¬ 
judge  victory  to  the  side  of  justice  and  liberty.” 

“Apparently  the  chances  are  against  us,  Miss  Irving;  yet 
I  regard  the  future  without  apprehension,  for  the  Texans 
are  fearless,  and  General  Burleson  in  every  respect  worthy 
the  confidence  reposed  in  him.  Allow  gloomy  forebodings 
no  room  in  your  heart,  but,  like  myself,  anticipate  a  speedy 
termination  of  the  war.” 


\ 


WEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO,  107 

“Vet;  your  situation  is  perilous  in  the  extreme;  hourly 
you  incur  danger,  and  each  day  may  be  your  last.  Oh  l 
why  will  you  hazard  your  life,  and  cause  your  sister  such 
bitter  anguish  ?  ”  Mary  replied,  with  quivering  lips,  while 
the  tone  faltered,  despite  her  efforts  to  seem  calm. 

«  At  least,  I  could  not  die  in  a  better  cause  ;  and,  as  the 
price  of  independence,  I  would  willingly  yield  up  my  life. 
Yet  Ellen’s  tears  are  difficult  to  bear ;  I  bade  her  adieu  a 
few  moments  since,  and  must  not  meet  her  again  till  all  is 
decided.  So  good-by,  Miss  Irving.” 

He  held  her  hand  in  his,  pressing  it  warmly,  then  lifted 
the  cold  fingers  to  his  lips,  and  quietly  turned  away. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

“  It  rains — what  lady  loves  a  rainy  day  ? 

She  loves  a  rainy  day  who  sweeps  tne  hearth, 

And  threads  the  busy  needle,  or  applies 
The  scissors  to  the  torn  or  threadbare  sleeve  ; 

And  blesses  God  that  she  has  friends  and  home." 

Axon. 

“  Mary,  where  is  your  cousin  ?  I  have  not  seen  her  since 
breakfast,”  inquired  Mrs.  Carlton,  as  the  two  friends  sat 
conversing  in  the  chamber  of  the  latter. 

“  She  laid  aside  her  book  just  now,  declaring  it  was  so 
dark  she  could  scarcely  read.  This  gloomy  day  has  infected 
her  spirits  ;  she  is  probably  in  the  dining-room.  I  will  seek 
her.”  And  rising,  Mary  left  the  apartment. 

For  two  days  the  rain  had  fallen  in  torrents,  and  now  on 
the  third  morning,  the  heavens  were  still  overcast,  and  at 
intervals  of  every  few  moments  the  heavy  clouds  discharged 
themselves  in  copious  showers.  The  despondency  induced 
by  the  unsettled  times  was  enhanced  by  the  gloomy  weather, 
and  many  an  earnest  wish  was  expressed  that  sunshine 
would  soon  smile  again  upon  the  town. 

Weary  with  pacing  up  and  down  the  dining-room,  Florence 
had  stationed  herself  at  the  window,  and  stood  with  her 
cheek  pressed  against  the  panes,  gazing  dreamily  out  upon 


lo8  INEZ :  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 

the  deluged  streets.  She  was  roused  from  her  reverie  by 
Mary’s  entrance. 

“  Florry,  I  have  come  in  quest  of  you.  Pray,  how  are 
you  amusing  yourself  here,  all  alone  ?  ” 

“  Communing  with  my  own  thoughts,  as  usual.  Here, 
Mary,  stand  beside  me.  As  you  came  in  I  was  puzzling 
myself  to  discover  how  those  Mexican  women  across  the 
street  are  employing  themselves.  They  seem  distressed,  yet 
every  now  and  then  chatter  with  most  perfect  unconcern. 
There,  they  are  both  on  their  knees,  with  something  like  a 
picture  hanging  on  the  fence  before  them.  They  dart  in 
and  out  of  the  house  in  a  strange,  excited  manner.  Perhaps 
you  can  enlighten  me  ?  ” 

Mary  looked  earnestly  in  the  direction  indicated  by  her 
cousin,  and  at  length  replied : 

“  You  will  scarcely  credit  my  explanation  :  yet  I  assure 
you  I  perfectly  understand  the  pantomime.  Florry,  look 
more  particularly  at  the  picture  suspended  in  the  rain.  What 
does  it  most  resemble,  think  you  ?  ” 

“  Ah,  I  see  now — it  is  an  image  of  the  Virgin !  But  I 
should  suppose  they  considered  it  sacrilegious  to  expose  it 
to  the  inclemencies  of  the  weather.” 

4 

“  Look  closely,  Florry,  there  are  praying  to  the  Virgin, 
and  imploring  a  cessation  of  the  rain.  I  once  happened  at 
Senor  Gonzale’s  during  a  thunder-storm,  and,  to  my  aston¬ 
ishment,  the  family  immediately  hung  out  all  the  paintings 
of  saints  they  possessed.  I  inquired  the  meaning,  and  was 
told  in  answer,  that  the  shower  would  soon  pass  over,  as 
they  had  petitioned  the  images  to  that  effect.  Those  women 
have  repeated  a  certain  number  of  aves,  and  withdrawn  into 
the  house,  but  ere  long  you  will  see  them  return,  and  go 
through  the  same  formula.” 

“  It  is  almost  incredible  that  they  should  ascribe  such 
miraculous  power  to  these  little  bits  of  painted  canvas,”  re¬ 
plied  Florence,  gazing  curiously  upon  the  picture  which  was 
suspended  with  the  face  toward  her. 

“  No,  not  incredible,  when  you  remember  the  quantity  of 
relics  annually  exported  from  Rome,  such  as  ‘  chips  of  the 
Cross,’  ‘  bones  of  the  Apostles,’  and  ‘  fragments  of  the 
Virgin’s  apparel,’  which  Papists  conscientiously  believe  are 
endowed  with  magical  powers  sufficient  to  relieve  various 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 


log 

infirmities.  I  doubt  not  that  those  women  confidently  ex¬ 
pect  a  favorable  response  to  their  petition ;  and  if  such  in¬ 
tercession  could  avail,  it  was  certainly  never  more  needed. 
Absurd  as  the  practise  appears  to  us,  a  doubt  of  the  efficacy 
of  their  prayers  never  crossed  their  minds.  They  are  both 
devout  and  conscientious.” 

“  But,  Mary,  such  superstitious  ignorance  is  entirely  con¬ 
fined  to  the  degraded  and  uneducated  classes.  No  really 
intelligent  mind  could  rely  on  yonder  picture  to  dispel  these 
clouds,  and  win  a  ray  of  sunshine.  I  think  you  are  too 
hasty  in  supposing  that  the  enlightened  portion  of  the 
Catholic  Church  place  such  implicit  confidence  in  images 
and  relics.” 

“  What  do  you  term  the  enlightened  portion  of  the  church  ? 
Would  not  its  prelates  be  considered  as  belonging  to  that 
class  ?  ” 

“  Most  certainly  they  would,  Mary  :  for  doubtless  many 
of  the  greatest  minds  Europe  has  produced,  were  and  are 
still  to  be  found  among  the  Roman  Catholic  clergy.  Yet 
you  would  not  insinuate  that  these  rely  on  the  efficacy  of 
such  mummery  as  that  we  have  just  witnessed  ?  ”  replied 
Florence,  fixing  her  eyes  inquiringly  upon  her  cousin’s  face. 

“  Allow  me  to  ask  one  question  ere  I  reply.  Florry,  do 
you  believe  the  days  of  miracles  have  passed  away,  or  do  you 
suppose  that  the  laws  of  nature  are  still  constantly  infringed, 
the  harmony  of  cause  and  effect  destroyed,  and  wonderful 
phenomena  still  vouchsafed  to  favored  Europeans  ?  ” 

“  Of  course  I  do  not  advocate  the  theory  that  miracles 
occur  at  the  present  day.  It  is  too  preposterous  to  advance 
in  this  enlightened  age.  There  are  perhaps  natural  phe¬ 
nomena,  only  to  be  explained  by  scientific  research ;  yet 
in  the  common  acceptation  of  the  term  miracle,  I  unhesita¬ 
tingly  declared  that  I  believe  none  have  occurred  since  the 
days  of  Christ  and  the  Apostles.” 

“  Then,  Florry,  your  position  is  untenable,  for  Romish 
prelates  of  the  present  day  do  most  unquestionably  defend 
the  theory  of  the  annual  occurrence  of  miracles.  Bishop 

* - ,  whose  intellectual  endowments  are  the  constant  theme 

of  encomiums,  has  recently  visited  Italy.  On  his  return  to 
America,  he  brought  with  him  a  valuable  collection  of  relics, 
which  he  distributed  among  the  members  of  his  church. 


1  xo 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


Florry,  I  can  vouch  for  the  truth  of  what  I  now  say.  He. 
declared  himself  extremely  fortunate  in  having  happened  at 
Naples  during  the  anniversary  of  the  death  of  St.  Janariusc 
Said  lie,  ‘  I  repaired  to  the  place  of  his  martyrdom,  and  took 
into  my  own  hand  the  vial  containing  the  blood  of  the  blessed 
saint,  now  decomposed.  As  the  hour  rolled  around  I 
watched  the  holy  dust  in  breathless  anxiety  ;  at  the  appointed 
moment  I  perceived  a  change  in  its  appearance,  and  while  I 
held  the  vial  in  my  hand  the  ashes  liquefied  and  became 
veritable  blood  ;  while  the  dark  spots  on  a  neighboring  stone 
turned  of  a  deep  crimson.’  Now  the  bishop  related  this 
miracle  far  and  wide  and  priests  ministering  at  the  altar  re= 
peated  his  words  to  their  listening  flocks.  Sanctioned  by 
the  example  of  their  prelates,  do  you  wonder  that  the  igno¬ 
rant  masses  of  the  Romish  church  should  implicitly  rely  upon 
the  intercession  of  saints,  and  place  unbounded  confidence 
in  the  miraculous  powers  imputed  to  relics  ?  Again,  the 
Manuals  placed  in  the  hands  of  the  laity,  are  compiled  under 
the  special  supervision  of  these  ecclesiastical  professors,  who 
necessarily  indorse  all  we  see  there  advanced.  In  the 
Ursuline  Manual  I  find  this  assertion :  ‘  The  Hail  Mary 
was  composed  in  Heaven,  dictated  by  the  Holy  Ghost,  and 
delivered  to  the  faithful  by  the  Angel  Gabriel !  9  Nowf 
Florry,  does  not  this  seem  blasphemy,  bordering  on  the  ab¬ 
surd  ?  What  conscientious,  honest,  enlightened  Christian 
would  unblushingly  defend  such  a  declaration  ?  ” 

“  But,  Mary,  admitting  as  you  do,  that  you  believe  there 
exist  many  truly  conscientious  members  of  this  sect,  why 
indulge  your  apprehension  at  the  promulgation  of  its  tenets  ?  ” 
replied  Florence. 

“  I  might  answer  you,  Florry,  in  the  words  of  Henry  IV.y 
who  inquired  of  a  celebrated  Protestant  divine,  ‘  if  a  man 
might  be  saved  by  the  Roman  Catholic  religion  ?  ’  6  Un¬ 

doubtedly,  ’  replied  the  clergyman,  4  if  his  life  and  heart  be 
holy.’  ‘  Then,’  said  the  king,  ‘  according  to  both  Catholics 
and  Protestants,  I  may  be  saved  by  the  Catholic  religion  \ 
but  if  I  embrace  your  religion,  I  shall  not  be  saved  accord¬ 
ing  to  the  Catholics.’  Thus  Henry  most  unquestionably 
adjudged  Protestants  the  more  tolerant  of  the  two  sects,, 
Here,  Florry,  you  have  the  clew  to  my  anti-Romanism.  1 
fear  the  extension  of  papal  doctrines,  because  liberty  of 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO .  ill 

conscience  was  never  yet  allowed  where  sufficient  power 
was  vested  in  the  Roman  Catholic  clergy  to  compel  sub¬ 
mission.  To  preserve  the  balance  of  power  in  ecclesiastical 
affairs  is  the  only  aim  of  Protestants.  We  but  contend  for 
the  privilege  of  placing  the  Bible  in  the  hands  of  the  masses 
—of  flashing  the  glorious  flambeau  of  truth  into  the  dark 
recesses  of  ignorance  and  superstition — into  the  abysmal 
depths  of  papal  iniquity.  Unscrupulously  employing  every 
method  conducive  to  the  grand  end  of  disseminating  Ro¬ 
mish  dogmas,  the  fagot,  the  wheel,  and  all  the  secret  horrors 
of  the  Inquisition,  were  speedily  brought  to  bear  upon  all 
who  dared  to  assume  the  privilege  of  worshiping  God  ac¬ 
cording  to  the  dictates  of  an  unfettered  conscience.  If  the 
bloody  tragedies  of  the  Middle  Ages  are  no  longer  enacted 
upon  the  theater  of  a  more  enlightened  world,  it  is  because 
the  power  so  awfully  abused  has  been  wrested  from  the 
scarlet-robed  tenants  of  the  Vatican,  The  same  fierce,  in¬ 
tolerable  tryanny  is  still  exercised  where  their  jurisdiction 
is  unquestioned.  From  the  administration  of  the  pontifical 
states  of  Italy  to  the  regulation  of  convent  discipline,  we 
trace  the  workings  of  the  same  iron  rule.  No  barriers  are 
too  mighty  to  be  overborne,  no  distinctions  too  delicate  to 
to  be  thrust  rudely  aside.  Even  the  sweet  sacredness  of 
the  home  circle  is  not  exempt  from  the  crushing,  withering 
influence.  Ah !  how  many  fair  young  members  of  the 
household  band  have  been  decoyed  from  the  hearthstone 
and  immured  in  gloomy  cells.  Ah  1  how  many  a  widowed 
parent  has  mourned  over  the  wreck  of  all  that  was  beau¬ 
tiful  in  a  cherished  daughter,  snatched  by  the  hand  of 
bigotry  from  her  warm  embrace,  and  forever  incarcerated 
in  monastic  gloom.  Oh!  tell  me,  Florry,  if  compulsory 
service  is  acceptable  to  all-seeing  God  ?  If  the  warm 
young  heart,  beating  behind  many  a  convent  grate,  yearns 
to  burst  asunder  the  iron  bands  which  enthrall  her,  and, 
mingling  again  upon  the  stage  of  life  to  perform  the  duties 
for  which  she  was  created,  oh !  where  in  holy  writ  is  sanc¬ 
tion  found  for  the  tyrannical  decree  which  binds  her  there 
forever — a  living  sacrifice  ?  ” 


\ 


113 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

'  "  *Tis  the  light  that  tells  the  dawning 
Of  the  bright  millennial  day, 
Heralding  its  blessed  morning, 
With  its  peace-restoring  ray. 


**  Man  no  more  shall  seek  dominion 
Through  a  sea  of  human  gore  ; 

War  shall  spread  its  gloomy  pinion 
O’er  the  peaceful  earth  no  more.’* 

Burleigh. 

It  was  a  dark,  tempestuous  night  in  December,  and  the 
keen  piercing  blasts  whistled  around  the  corners  and  swept 
moaningly  across  the  Plaza.  Silence  reigned  over  the 
town.  No  sound  of  life  was  heard — the  shout  of  laughter, 
the  shriek  of  pain,  or  wail  of  grief  was  stilled.  The 
voices  of  many  who  had  ofttimes  hurried  along  the  now 
silent  and  deserted  streets  were  hushed  in  death.  The 
eventful  day  had  dawned  and  set,  the  records  of  its  deeds 
borne  on  to  God  by  the  many  that  had  fallen.  Oh  !  when 
shall  the  millennium  come  ?  When  shall  peace  and  good¬ 
will  reign  throughout  the  world  ?  When  shall  hatred,  re¬ 
venge,  and  malice  die  ?  When  shall  the  fierce,  bitter  strife 
of  man  with  fellow-man  be  ended  ?  And  oh !  when  shall 
desolating  war  forever  cease,  and  the  bloody  records  of  the 
past  be  viewed  as  monster  distortions  of  a  maddened  brain  ? 
These  things  shall  be  when  the  polity  of  the  world  is  changed. 
When  statesmen  cease  their  political,  and  prelates  their 
ecclesiastical  intrigues ;  when  monarch,  and  noble,  and 
peasant,  alike  cast  selfishness  and  dissimulation  far  from 
them  ;  when  the  Bible  is  the  text-book  of  the  world,  and  the 
golden  rule  observed  from  pole  to  pole. 

The  nth  of  December  is  marked  with  a  white  stone  in 
the  calendar  of  the  Texans.  During  the  fortnight  which 
elapsed  from  the  engagement  of  Conception,  the  Alamo 
had  been  closely  invested  by  General  Burleson,  and  brief 
though  bloody  struggles  almost  daily  occurred.  The  be- 
seigers  numbered  only  eight  hundred,  while  the  fortress 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO.  113 

was  garrisoned  by  twenty-five  hundred  Mexican  troops. 
Yet  well-directed  valor  has  ever  proved  more  than  a  match 
for  numerical  superiority.  On  the  morning  of  the  nth  a 
desperate  assault  was  made,  a  violent  struggle  ensued,  and 
ere  long  victory  declared  for  the  “  Lone  Star.”  With  un¬ 
utterable  chagrin  General  Cos  was  forced  to  dispatch  a 
messenger  bearing  the  white  banner  of  submission  to  the 
Texan  commander,  and  night  saw  the  Alamo  again  in  Texan 
hands,  and  General  Cos  and  his  disheartened  band  prison¬ 
ers  of  war. 

Dr.  Bryant  had  received,  during  the  engagement,  a 
wound  in  the  arm,  which  he  caused  to  be  dressed,  and, 
placing  the  injured  member  in  a  sling,  strove  to  soothe  the 
.  dying  and  relieve  the  wounded.  Early  he  dispatched  tid¬ 
ings  of  his  safety  to  his  anxious  sister,  and  now  devoted 
himself  to  the  suffering  soldiery.  Midnight  found  him  be¬ 
side  the  couch  of  pain,  and  even  as  he  bent  to  administer 
a  sedative,  a  hand  was  lightly  laid  on  his  shoulder.  Look¬ 
ing  up,  Frank  perceived  the  muffled  form  of  a  female,  though 
unable  to  determine  who  stood  beside  him,  for  the  face  was 
entirely  concealed  by  the  mantilla. 

“  Can  I  do  anything  for  you,  Senora  ?  ” 

“  Dr.  Bryant,  will  you  leave  your  people  here  to  see  a 
dying  Mexican — one  who  fell  fighting  against  you  ?  ” 

“  Most  assuredly,  if  I  can  render  relief ;  but,  Inez,  you 
should  not  have  ventured  here  on  such  an  errand ;  could  no 
messenger  be  found  ?  It  was  imprudent  in  you  to  come  at 
this  hour.” 

“No  matter;  I  felt  no  fear  of  your  people,  and  mine 
would  not  molest  me.  But  I  have  little  time  to  wait.  Man¬ 
uel  is  sorely  wounded  :  we  bore  him  from  the  Alamo,  and  he 
lies  at  my  father’s.  Can  you  do  nothing  for  him  ?  ” 

“  I  hope  it  is  not  too  late  to  render  assistance  ;  we  will 
go  immediately.”  And  drawing  his  cloak  over  the  wounded 
arm,  he  followed  her  to  Don  Garcia’s.  Neither  spoke  till 
they  reached  the  threshold  ;  then  Frank  said : 

“  Inez,  does  Manuel  know  you  came  for  me  ?  ” 

“Yes;  he  objected  at  first,  but  as  the  pain  grew  more 
acute,  he  begged  us  to  do  something  for  him.  I  told  him 
there  was  none  to  help  save  you.  He  frowned  a  little,  but 
nodded  his  head,  and  then  I  lost  no  time.” 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO 


114 

They  entered  the  apartment  of  the  sufferer,  and  Inez, 
started  at  the  change  which  had  taken  place  during  her 
temporary  absence.  Manuel  feebly  turned  his  head  as  the 
door  opened,  and  his  eyes  brightened  as  they  rested  on 
Inez.  He  motioned  her  to  sit  beside  him,  and  she  com* 
plied,  lifting  his  head  and  carefully  leaning  it  upon  her 
bosom.  Dr.  Bryant  examined  the  wound,  felt  the  pulse, 
and  stooping  over  him,  asked : 

“  Nevarro,  do  you  suffer  much  ?  ” 

Manuel  laid  his  hand  on  the  bleeding  side,  and  feebly  in¬ 
clined  his  head. 

“  Inez,  I  can  only  use  one  hand,  will  you  assist  me  in 
binding  this  wound  ?  ” 

She  attempted  to  rise,  but  Nevarro  clutched  her  hand  and 
gasped — “  Too  late— too  late  I  ” 

Resolved  to  do  something,  if  possible,  for  his  relief, 
Frank  beckoned  to  the  Don,  who  stood  near,  and  with  some 
difficulty  they  succeeded  in  passing  a  bandage  round  the 
mouth  of  the  wound.  The  groans  of  the  dying  man  caused 
even  the  cheek  of  the  fearless  Inez  to  blanch.  She  who 
scorned  danger,  and  knew  not  fear,  could  not  witness  with¬ 
out  a  pang  the  sufferings  of  another.  She  moaned  in  very 
sympathy,  and  stroked  gently  back  the  straight  raven  hair, 
now  clotted  with  blood.  The  exertion  necessarily  made 
proved  fatal ;  the  breathing  grew  short  and  painful  ,the 
pulse  slow  and  feeble.  Appealing  was  the  look  which  the 
wounded  one  bent  on  Inez  :  he  strove  to  utter  his  wishes, 
but,  alas,  it  was  indeed  too  late.  The  blood  gushed  anew 
from  his  side,  crimsoning  bandage  and  couch,  and  dyeing 
Inez’s  dress.  Dr.  Bryant  took  one  of  the  cold  hands  and 
pressed  it  kindly.  Manuel  opened  his  eyes,  and  looked 
gratefully  on  one  who  had  at  least  endeavored  to  relieve 
him.  Convulsively  the  fingers  closed  over  his  physician’s 
hand ;  again  he  turned  his  face  to  Inez,  and  with  a  groan 
expired. 

Frank  took  the  lifeless  form  from  her  arms,  and  laying  it 
gently  back  upon  the  pillow,  closed  the  eyes  forever,  and 
covered  the  face. 

No  words,  save  “Holy  Mary!  ”  escaped  the  Don’s  lips, 
as  he  quitted  the  room  of  death. 

Inez’s  lips  quivered,  and  the  convulsive  twitching  of  hef 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO , 


IXS 


features  plainly  indicated  her  grief  at  this  mournful  parting 
with  the  playmate  of  her  youth — with  her  affianced  husband. 
Yet  the  large  dark  eyes  were  undimmed  :  and  her  tone  calm, 
as  though  the  “  King  of  Terrors  ”  were  not  there  in  all  his 
gloom. 

“  Inez,  I  sympathize  with  you  in  this  affliction,  and  sin¬ 
cerely  regret  that  the  fatal  wound  was  inflicted  by  one  of 
my  nation.  Yet  the  past  is  irretrievable,  though  painful, 
and  many  are,  like  you,  bereft  of  friends  and  relatives. 
Inez,  in  your  hours  of  gloom  and  sadness  can  you  not  think 
of  your  reunion  with  Manuel,  where  death  and  parting  are 
unknown  1  ” 

She  had  averted  her  head,  and  a  look  of  unutterable  bit¬ 
terness  rested  on  the  pale,  stern  face. 

“  I  thank  you  for  coming,  though  you  could  not  give 
Manuel  relief.  It  was  good  and  kind  in  you  to  try,  and 
none  but  Frank  Bryant  would  have  done  it :  again  I  thank 
you.  I  shall  not  forget  this  night,  and  you,  Senor,  shall  be 
requited.  I  trust  you  are  not  suffering  with  your  arm ;  why 
is  it  bound  up  ?  ”  And  she  laid  her  hand  softly  on  it. 

“  I  received  a  slight  though  rather  painful  wound  during 
the  engagement,  and  placed  it  in  a  sling  for  convenience 
and  relief ;  but,  Inez,  it  is  well-nigh  day,  see  how  the  stars 
are  waning.  You  need  rest,  so  good  night,  or  rather  morn¬ 
ing;  I  will  see  you  again  to-morrow.  ”  And  Frank  sought 
his  sister,  knowing  full  well  her  anxiety,  and  wishing  speed¬ 
ily  to  allay  it. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

“  Where  is  the  place  of  meeting  ? 

At  what  hour  rises  the  moon  ? 

I  repair  to  what  ?  to  hold  a  council  in  the  dark 
With  common  ruffians  leagued  to  ruin  states !  ” 

Byron. 

The  fierce  storm  of  war  had  swept  over  the  town,  and 
quiet  seemed  succeeding.  No  sound  of  strife  disturbed  the 
stillness  which  settled  around.  Many  had  fallen,  and  the 
grass  began  to  bud  on  the  grave  of  Manuel ;  no  tear  moist¬ 
ened  the  sod  beneath  which  he  rested.  Inez,  often  stood 


1 16  INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 

beside  the  newly-raised  mound  with  folded  arms,  and  a 
desolate,  weary  look  on  her  beautiful  features,  which  too 
plainly  indicated  a  longing  to  sleep  near  him.  Yet  she 
never  wept ;  for  her  love  for  Nevarro  had  been  that  of  a 
cousin,  perhaps  not  so  fervent.  Still,  now  that  his  steps  no 
longer  echoed  at  their  door,  and  his  deep  voice  sounded 
not  again  on  her  ear,  a  lonely  feeling  stole  into  her  heart, 
and  often  she  crept  from  her  dreary  home  and  sought  the 
churchyard. 

Christmas  had  come  and  gone;  a  joyless  season  to  many 
saddened  hearts  accustomed  to  hail  it  with  delight.  The 
cousins  had  returned  to  their  home,  and  were  busily  ar¬ 
ranging  their  yard,  and  making  some  alterations  for  the 
New  Year.  Florence  had  begun  of  late  to  grow  cheerful 
again,  and  Mary  watched,  with 'silent  joy,  the  delicate  tinge 
come  back  to  her  marble  cheek.  She  seemed  very  calm, 
and  almost  hopeful ;  and  the  spirit  of  peace  descended  and 
rested  on  their  hearth.  Only  one  cause  of  sorrow  remained 
— Mary’s  declining  health  :  yet  she  faded  so  gently,  and  al¬ 
most  painlessly,  that  their  fears  were  ofttimes  lulled. 

Dr.  Bryant  was  still  engaged  in  nursing  the  wounded,  and 
only  came  occasionally,  regretting  often  that  it  was  not  in 
his  power  to  see  them  more  frequently.  A  change  had 
come  over  him  of  late ;  the  buoyancy  of  his  spirits  seemed 
broken,  and  his  gay  tone  of  raillery  was  hushed ;  the  bright, 
happy  look  of  former  days  was  gone,  and  a  tinge  of  sadness 
was  sometimes  perceptible  on  his  handsome  face.  Mrs. 
Carlton  had  spoken  on  her  last  visit  of  Frank’s  departure. 
She  said  she  hoped  he  would  return  soon,  as  his  business 
required  attention  at  home.  He  would  not  leave,  however, 
as  long  as  his  services  were  in  requisition. 

One  Sabbath  morning  Inez  attended  mass — something 
unusual  for  her  of  late,  for  since  Nevarro’s  death  she  had 
secluded  herself  as  much  as  possible.  She  knelt  in  her  ac¬ 
customed  place,  with  covered  head,  seemingly  rapt  in  devo¬ 
tion,  but  the  eyes  rested  with  an  abstracted  expression  on 
the  wall  beside  her :  her  thoughts  were  evidently  wandering 
from  her  rosary,  and  now  and  then  the  black  brows  met  as 
her  forehead  wrinkled ;  still  the  fingers  slid  with  mechanical 
precision  up  and  down  the  string  of  beads.  The  services 
were  brief  and  the  few  who  had  assembled  quietly  departed. 


sNEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO .  117 

As  Inez  rose  to  go,  the  Padre,  who  was  hastening  down  the 
aisle,  was  stopped  by  a  Mexican  in  the  garb  of  a  trader. 
They  stood  quite  near,  and  the  hoarse  whisper  of  the  latter 
fell  on  her  listening  ear. 

“  Meet  me  at  the  far  end  of  the  Alameda,  when  the  moon 
rises  to-night.” 

“  I  will  be  there  before  you  :  is  there  any  good  news  ?  ” 

A  finger  was  laid  on  the  lip,  and  a  significant  nod  and 
wink  were  not  lost  upon  the  maiden,  who,  bowing  low  be¬ 
fore  the  Padre,  walked  slowly  away.  The  day  wore  on, 
much  as  Sabbaths  ordinarily  do,  yet  to  her  it  seemed  as 
though  darkness  would  never  fall  again,  and  many  times  she 
looked  out  on  the  shadows  cast  by  the  neighboring  houses 
athwart  the  street.  Twilight  closed  at  last,  and  having  placed 
her  father’s  evening  meal  before  him,  she  cautiously  gazed 
down  the  narrow  alley,  and  perceiving  no  one  stirring,  sallied 
forth.  The  stars  gave  a  faint  light,  and  she  hurried  on  to¬ 
ward  the  bridge :  swift  was  her  step,  yet  noiseless,  and  she 
glided  on  like  a  being  from  another  world,  so  stealthy  were 
her  movements.  The  bridge  was  gained  at  length  and  al¬ 
most  passed,  when  she  descried  in  the  surrounding  gloom  a 
dark  figure  approaching  from  the  opposite  direction. 
Closer  she  drew  the  mantle  about  her  form,  and  slackened 
her  rapid  pace.  They  met,  and  the  stranger  paused  and 
bent  eagerly  forward : 

“  Who  goes  there  ?  ” 

The  voice  was  well  known.  Inez’s  heart  gave  a  quick 
bound,  and  she  answered  : 

“  Inez  de  Garcia !  ” 

“  Why,  where  are  you  roaming  to  this  dark  night,  Inez  ? 
Are  you  not  afraid  to  venture  out  alone  and  so  far  from 
home  ?  ” 

“  No,  Doctor,  I  have  no  fears ;  I  was  never  a  coward  you 
know ;  and  besides,  who  would  harm  me,  an  unoffending 
woman  ?  Surely  your  people  will  not  molest  me  ?  ” 

“  No,  certainly  not.  But,  Inez,  I  hope  you  are  not  bend¬ 
ing  your  steps  toward  the  Alamo  ?  ” 

“  I  am  a  friend  to  the  Americans,  though  they  have  taken 
the  last  of  my  family  there  was  to  give.  Yet  I  will  be  true 
to  Mary  and  to  you.  Fear  nothing  for  me,  and  let  me  pass 
on  my  errand.” 


Il8  INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 

He  stood  aside.  (i  Bueno  noche,  Senorita.” 

“  Bueno  noche  ; 55  and  she  glided  on.  “  I  fear  I  have  lost 
time;  ”  and  hastily  glancing  toward  the  east,  she  saw  a  faint 
light  stealing  up  from  the  horizon.  Redoubling  her  speed 
she  pushed  on.  but,  despite  her  efforts,  the  moon  rose  with 
uncommon  brilliance  as  she  approached  the  place  of  ren¬ 
dezvous,  and  soon  every  object  was  bathed  in  a  flood  of 
light. 

The  Alameda,  which  she  had  just  entered,  was  a  long 
double  row  of  majestic  cotton-woods,  which,  stretching  out 
in  the  direction  of  the  Powder-House,  was  the  favorite 
promenade  with  the  inhabitants  of  the  town.  Previous  to 
the  breaking  out  of  the  war  numbers  were  to  be  seen  here 
every  afternoon,  some  walking,  others  playing  games,  an¬ 
other  group  dancing,  and  the  graver  portion  of  the  company 
resting  on  the  rude  seats  supplied  for  the  purpose.  But 
their  favorite  resort  was  blood-stained,  for  the  Alameda  was 
the  battle-field  in  the  late  desperate  conflict,  and  the  smooth 
surface  was  torn  and  trampled  by  the  stamp  of  prancing 
cavalry.  Dark  spots  were  still  visible,  that  were  yet  damp 
with  gore.  Just  to  the  west  rose  the  grim  walls  of  the  fort, 
distinctly  seen  through  the  opening  between  the  trees.  Be¬ 
yond  where  the  avenue  ceased,  stood  a  low,  irregular  build¬ 
ing  of  stone,  thatched  with  tule. 

Inez  stood  at  the  threshold  and  listened  intently.  The 
place  bore  a  desolate  air,  and  neither  sound  nor  light  be¬ 
tokened  the  presence  of  a  human  being.  It  had  long  been 
uninhabited,  and  some  declared  it  was  haunted,  so  that  the 
Padre  had  some  time  before  sprinkled  holy  water  profusely 
about,  in  order  to  drive  away  the  evil  one. 

Cautiously  Inez  tried  the  fastening ;  it  swerved  not 
beneath  her  firm,  strong  grasp.  She  shook  it  slightly :  a 
hollow  echo  answered  back.  Entrance  was  impossible; 
and  even  as  she  lingered  irresolute,  the  sound  of  approach¬ 
ing  steps  was  borne  to  her  listening  ears  by  the  night  wind. 
What  should  she  do  ?  Without  a  moment’s  hesitation  she 
glided  swiftly  to  a  cluster  of  chapperal,  and  crouched  low 
among  its  thorny  branches.  Inez  had  scarcely  secreted  her¬ 
self,  when  the  figure  of  a  man,  directing  his  steps  to  the 
house  she  had  just  left,  warned  her  to  keep  quiet.  He  stood 
still  a  moment,  then  knocked.  Drearily  the  knock  resounded 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO.  1 19 

through  the  empty  building.  Again  was  the  signal  for  ad¬ 
mission  given,  but  no  response  greeted  the  anxious  tym* 
panums. 

“  Why  in  the  name  of  twenty  devils  don’t  you  open  the 
door  ?  ”  and  he  shook  it  violently  :  still  no  answer. 

“  I  swear  I’ll  batter  it  down,  and  stretch  you  on  it  to  boot, 
if  you  don’t  let  me  in.  Why  do  you  keep  me  waiting  ?  I 
am  too  late  already.” 

“Nay,  nay;  restrain  your  impatience,”  said  a  voice  be« 
hind  him. 

“  By  the  saints,  you  are  come  in  good  time,  Padre.  1 
had  well-nigh  made  a  soldier’s  entrance.” 

“No  need  of  violence,  Senor.  Why  could  not  you  wait 
in  Christian  patience  ?  ” 

“  Look  here,  my  good  friend.  I  came  not  all  the  way 
from  Mexico  to  listen  to  a  lecture ;  and  you  will  do  well  to 
save  your  canting  for  a  better  time  and  a  worse  man.  So* 
Mazzolin,  just  open  the  door  of  this  cursed  den.” 

Roused  by  the  bold  language  of  the  stranger,  the  Padre, 
though  anxious  to  learn  his  errand,  was  still  true  to  his 
policy,  and  could  in  no  measure  compromise  the  dignity  of 
his  person. 

“  There  is  no  obligation  resting  on  me  to  do  so  against 
my  will,  and  no  man  shall  bully  or  threaten  me,  a  priest  of 
our  holy  church.”  He  had  partially  opened  the  door,  but 
closed  it  again. 

Enraged  beyond  degree,  the  soldier  grasped  what  little 
collar  was  afforded  by  the  habit  he  wore. 

“You  infernal,  canting  hypocrite!  I  swear  by  Cortes 
I’ll  kick  you  to  a  jelly — I’ll  bastinade  you  till  you  won’t 
know  the  Virgin  from  the  Devil,  if  you  don’t  instantly  let 
me  in,  and  keep  your  lying  tongue  in  your  Jesuit  heado 
Think  you  to  gull  me  with  your  holy  talk  ?  I  know  you  all  2 
you  are  a  blessed,  holy  brotherhood,  truly.  Have  I  not 
seen  your  letters  to  Mexico,  you  canting  scoundrel  ?  ”  He 
shook  the  Padre  violently  as  he  delivered  this  benediction. 

Now  Father  Mazzolin,  like  many  of  his  sex,  was  fond  of 
supporting  his  dignity,  and  reverence  for  his  sacred  person 
was  especially  inculcated  by  his  teachings.  Yet  when  firmly 
met  his  threats  melted  away,  and,  to  all  appearances,  his 
choler  too .  for  he  knew  full  well  when  to  succumb  and 


120 


INEZ :  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


when  to  oppose  belligerent  demonstrations.  The  expression 
of  rage  that  darkened  the  face  of  the  soldier,  left  no  doubt 
that  he  would  execute  his  threat  if  further  opposed.  And 
Eather  Mazzolin,  fully  satisfied  that  the  organ  of  reverence 
was  altogether  omitted  in  his  cranium,  thought  it  best  to 
comply. 

“  Ha  1  you  can  understand  Irish  logic  as  well  as  the  next 
brave  one.”  And  he  entered,  followed  by  the  Padre,  who 
ground  his  teeth  with  mortification. 

An  hour  later  they  stood  again  on  the  threshold  in  earnest 
converse,  not  perceiving  the  dark  form  which  fled,  on  the 
reopening  of  the  door,  to  the  old  hiding-place.  They  turned 
to  go  in  different  directions  2  the  stranger  stopped,  and  call¬ 
ing  to  the  Padre,  desired  him  to  keep  well  the  secret,  and 
in  no  way  divulge  a  breath  of  their  conference. 

“  It  could  not  be  in  safer  hands,”  was  answered  back, 
and  they  parted. 

A  low,  bitter  laugh  escaped  Inez’s  lips  as,  waiting  till  it 
was  safe  to  venture  forth,  she  rose  from  the  chapperal  and 
hastened  homeward. 

“  Padre,  cunning  though  you  are,  we  are  well  mated ; 
there  are  few  like  unto  you  and  me.” 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

*  I  simply  tell  thee  peril  is  at  hand, 

And  would  preserve  thee !  ” 

Byron. 

Two  days  later  the  cousins  sat  in  their  front  room, 
Florence  intently  reading,  Mary  watching  beside  the  couch 
of  pain,  bathing  her  aunt’s  brow,  and  chafing  the  hands. 
Aunt  Lizzy  was  suffering  from  violent  nervous  headache : 
all  day  she  had  tossed  restlessly  about,  and  now,  soothed 
by  the  gentle  touches  on  her  brow,  had  fallen  asleep.  Her 
fingers  had  tightly  clasped  Mary’s  small,  thin  hands,  but 
gradually  relaxing  their  hold,  sunk  beside  her.  Softly  smooth¬ 
ing  back  the  disordered  hair,  the  young  nurse  failed  to  per* 


121 


INEZ  *  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 

s 

ceive  the  entrance  of  Dr.  Bryant,  and  only  looked  up  when 
a  beautiful  bouquet  of  flowers  was  laid  upon  her  lap.  The 
feverish  glow  deepened  on  her  cheek  as  she  warmly  thanked 

him. 

“  I  am  glad  you  like  them,  Miss  Irving.” 

“  How  could  I  do  otherwise  ?  ” 

“  My  bunch  is  equally  beautiful,”  cried  Florence,  holding 
it  up  for  inspection.  “  Pray,  Doctor,  how  came  you  so 
thoroughly  acquainted  with  our  different  tastes  ?  You  have 
selected  admirably.” 

“  I  am  gratified  at  succeeding  so  happily  in  my  arrange¬ 
ment  of  them.  But  I  hope  your  aunt  is  not  seriously  indis¬ 
posed  ?  ” 

"  No,  merely  a  bad  nervous  attack,  to  which  she  is  sub¬ 
ject.”  „  - 

“  Miss  Mary,  as  you  are  free  from  apprehension  on  her 
account,  can  you  take  a  short  ride  this  evening  ?  I  have  a 
gentle  horse  at  the  gate,  and  if  you  will  trust  yourself  with 
me,  I  think  a  good  canter  will  benefit  you  exceedingly :  will 
you  go  ?  ” 

Mary  sought  Florence’s  eye ;  it  brightened  with  pleasure. 

“  Certainly,  Mary  ;  why  do  you  hesitate  ?  I  am  very  glad 
Dr.  Bryant  suggested  it ;  I  will  take  good  care  of  aunt,  and 
the  ride  will  doubtless  benefit  you.” 

“  You  are  very  kind,  Doctor  ;  I  will  only  detain  you  while 
I  change  my  dress.”  And  she  withdrew. 

“  Don’t  you  think  she  looks  much  better  to-day  ?  ”  asked 
Florence,  anxiously,  as  her  cousin  left  the  room. 

“  She  has  certainly  more  color,  but  I  am  afraid  it  is  only 
a  feverish  glow.  Let  me  entreat  you,  Miss  Hamilton,  to 
watch  over  her  with  the  greatest  care  :  the  slightest  exposure 
might  cause  a  return  of  that  terrible  cough,  and  in  her  feeble 
state  I  fear  for  the  consequences.” 

“  She  has  grown  very,  very  thin,  within  the  last  month ; 
but  then,  when  warm  weather  comes  again,  I  doubt  not  she 
will  grow  rosy  and  strong  once  more.”  They  both  sighed 
heavily,  as  though  against  conviction  each  had  striven  to 
cheer  the  other. 

Mary  re-entered  the  room  equipped  for  her  ride,  and  now, 
for  the  first  time,  Florence  thought  her  cousin  beautiful. 
Beneath  her  straw  hat  floated  back  from  her  fair  face  a 


122 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


luxuriant  mass  of  brown  curls  ;  a  bright  blush  mantled  the 
delicate  cheek,  and  the  gentle  blue  eyes  seemed  unusually 
large  and  brilliant.  A  smile  dimpled  round  her  lip  as  she 
met  the  fond  glance  bent  upon  her.  Florence  tenderly 
clasped  her  hand  a  moment,  then  kissed  her  warmly,  and 
bade  Dr.  Bryant  take  all  care  of  her.  He  promised  to  do 
so,  and  soon  they  had  passed  beyond  her  sight.  They  rode 
slowly,  lest  Mary  should  be  too  much  fatigued ;  and  often 
the  eyes  of  her  companion  rested  on  the  frail  but  lovely 
being  by  his  side. 

“  Which  way  shall  we  ride  ?  ” 

“  If  you  have  no  preference,  suppose  we  go  to  San  Pedro  ?  ” 

“  You  could  not  have  selected  more  in  accordance  with  my 
Own  wishes.” 

A  long  silence  ensued,  broken  only  by  the  clatter  of  their 
horses’  hoofs  along  the  gravel  path. 

“  The  prospect  of  leaving  forever  these  beautiful  environs, 
which  I  have  so  often  admired,  fills  me  with  inexpressible 
regret.  My  heart  clings  to  San  Antonio,  though  my  resi¬ 
dence  here  has  been  very  brief ;  ”  said  Dr.  Bryant  sadly. 

“  Do  you  go  to  return  no  more  ?  ”  asked  Mary,  with 
averted  head. 

“Yes,  most  probably  I  shall  never  see  this  place  again; 
for  I  wish  to  visit  Europe  so  soon  as  my  business  affairs  are 
arranged  at  home,  and  on  my  return,  shall  devote  myself 
to  my  profession.”  He  fixed  his  eyes  earnestly  on  her  face 
as  he  spoke. 

Slowly  the  head  drooped,  till  the  hat  concealed  her  fea¬ 
tures. 

“  We  shall  miss  you  very  much  when  you  are  gone.  Florry 
and  I  feel  deeply  grateful  for  your  continued  kindness,  and 
never — no,  never  shall  we  forget  your  care  of  my  uncle.” 

“  Take  care — take  care  ;  you  are  dropping  your  reins.” 

He  gathered  them  up  and  replaced  them  in  her  hand. 

“  Thank  you  ;  I  had  quite  forgotten  them.” 

“  Do  you  not  think  it  would  be  best  for  you  and  Florence 
to  return  to  your  friends  in  Louisiana  ?  This  is  an  unpleas¬ 
ant  home  for  you.” 

“  It  was  my  uncle’s  wish  that  we  should  remain  here,  and 
I  know  Florry  would  not  consent  to  leave,  unless  some 
danger  threatened.  We  have  learned  to  love  San  Antonio 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO.  12$ 

more  dearly  than  any  other  place,  except  our  old  home  ;  * 
replied  Mary,  earnestly. 

“  By  the  bye,  I  had  almost  forgotten  to  mention  that  I  have 
had  a  letter  from  an  old  friend,  who  inquired  very  partic¬ 
ularly  after  you — Dudley  Stewart ;  you  knew  him,  I  think, 
in  New  Orleans.  His  letter  is  dated  six  months  ago  :  but  I 
am  happy  to  receive  it  at  all  during  these  unsettled  times.” 

“  We  heard  of  his  marriage,”  said  Mary,  in  a  low  tone,  as 
the  image  of  Florence  rose  before  her. 

“  His  marriage  I  Oh,  no!  you  must  be'  mistaken.  He 
would  most  certainly  have  mentioned  it,  for  we  are  old  and 
intimate  friends.” 

“  It  was  reported  that  he  had  married  his  cousin.” 

“  Ah !  is  that  all  ?  I  am  not  much  surprised  that  you 
should  have  heard  that,  for  before  I  left  home  it  was  quite 
current.  His  widowed  mother  was  very  anxious  to  make 
the  match  ;  but  Stewart  assured  me  he  would  never  comply 
with  her  wishes,  as  he  had  fully  resolved  never  to  wed  a 
woman  he  did  not  tenderly  love ;  and  though  quite  pretty, 
Ellen  is  not  sufficiently  intellectual  to  attract  such  a  man.” 

“  Are  you  quite  sure  of  this,  Dr.  Bryant  ?  ”  said  Mary,  in 
a  quick,  eager  tone. 

“  Certainly ;  I  had  it  from  his  own  lips.” 

“  Oh  1  I  ” — She  stopped  short,  and  her  cheek  crimsoned, 
as  she  met  the  piercing  glance  of  his  dark  eye  bent  upon 
her  face.  Her  small  hands  trembled  so  that  the  reins  quiv¬ 
ered,  and  she  closed  her  eyes  for  a  moment,  while  the  glow 
fled  from  her  cheeks,  leaving  them  pale  as  marble. 

He  caught  her  hand,  and  steadied  her  in  her  saddle. 

“  Forgive  my  inattention,  Miss  Irving,  you  are  not  strong 
enough  to  extend  your  ride.  Your  face  is  very  pale,  and 
you  look  fatigued.” 

“  Yes,  let  us  go  home — home.”  Her  voice  was  low  and 
faltering,  and  she  with  difficulty  restrained  the  tears  which 
sprung  to  her  eyes. 

They  turned  their  horses’  heads,  and  neither  attempted  to 
remove  the  restraint  which  both  experienced.  They  entered 
the  town,  and  then  seeing  her  hand  glide  quickly  to  her  side, 
he  gently  said : 

“  I  am  afraid  we  are  riding  too  fast  for  you.” 

Her  v  w  writhed  for  a  moment  with  acute  pain  ;  but  with 


124  INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 

a  faint  smile,  which  touched  him  with  its  sadness,  she  re* 
plied : 

“  I  am  better  now — the  pain  has  almost  left  me.  I  am 
very  sorry  to  trouble  you  so  much,  Dr.  Bryant/’ 

“  Trouble !  ”  he  murmured,  as  if  communing  with  his  own 
heart.  “  I  see  you  do  not  know  me,  nor  ever  will ;  for  none 
have  truly  read  my  soul  or  sympathized.”  A  look  of  bitter* 
ness  passed  over  his  face,  and  a  sterner  expression  rested 
there  than  Mary  had  ever  marked  before.  She  knew  not 
what  to  reply,  for  she  could  not  comprehend  the  change,  and 
even  as  she  pondered,  he  pointed  to  the  western  sky,  and, 
much  in  his  usual  tone,  asked: 

“  Don’t  you  think  the  sunsets  here  exceed  any  you  ever 
beheld  elsewhere  ?  ” 

“  In  brilliancy  they  certainly  do.  Yet  I  love  still  better 
the  soft  tints  which  often  linger  till  the  stars  come  out.  I 
think  they  blend  and  harmonize  more  beautifully  with  the 
deep  blue  of  the  zenith  than  any  I  have  seen  before,  and  I 
have  watched  sunsets  from  my  childhood.” 

“You  are  right;  I  have  noticed  in  more  northern  lati¬ 
tudes  a  very  perceptible  difference  in  the  appearance  of  the 
firmament.  The  moon,  for  instance,  on  cold,  clear  nights, 
presents  a  silvery,  glittering  disk,  but  the  soft  mellow  light 
of  a  southern  clime  is  wanting.” 

While  he  spoke,  the  figure  of  a  woman  emerged  from  a 
house  near  by,  and,  softly  approaching  Mary’s  horse,  laid 
her  finger  on  her  lips,  and,  pressing  a  piece  of  paper  into  her 
hand,  returned  as  silently  as  she  came.  Dr.  Bryant  turned 
his  head  toward  Mary  as  he  finished  speaking,  and,  catching 
a  glimpse  of  the  retreating  form,  looked  inquiringly  at  her. 

“  I  believe  it  was  Inez,  though  the  face  was  entirely  con* 
cealed.  She  did  not  speak,  but  gave  me  this  paper,”  and 
Mary  unrolled  the  note : 

% 

“  Marinita, 

“  Santa  Anna  has  crossed  the  Rio  Grande  with  eight 
thousand  men.  I  warn  you  of  your  danger.  You  can  get 
horses  now,  for  the  Padre  cannot  control  your  people. 
There  are  brave  men  in  the  Alamo,  tell  them  of  their  dam 
ger.  Again  I  say,  fly  quickly  from  San  Antonio. 

“  Inez.” 


INEZ :  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO.  125 

With  a  groan,  Mary  handed  him  the  paper.  In  silence 
he  perused  and  returned  it  to  her. 

“  Tell  me,  was  it  Inez  who  warned  you  before  ?  ” 

“  Yes,  she  told  me  we  incurred  unknown  dangers  by  re¬ 
maining  here.”  He  mused  for  several  moments. 

“  Ah  !  I  can  understand  it  all  now.  Several  nights  ago, 
returning  from  the  Alamo,  I  met  her  on  the  bridge  alone ; 
she  seemed  excited,  I  thought,  and  impatient  at  meeting 
me,  for  I  questioned  her  rambling  so  late.” 

“  Inez  is  a  warm  friend,  and  what  she  advises  I  feel  al¬ 
most  bound  to  do,  for  she  is  not  timid,  and  only  real  danger 
rouses  her  apprehension.” 

“  Eight  thousand  men  !  and  not  two  hundred  to  man  the 
Alamo.  Inez  is  right ;  this  is  not  a  proper  place  for  you. 
We  will  go,  as  we  once  decided,  to  Washington  ;  and  when 
you  are  in  safety,  I  will  return  and  lend  my  efforts  to  the 
feeble  garrison.” 

They  reached  the  gate,  and  he  gently  lifted  the  frail  form 
from  the  saddle  ;  and,  drawing  her  arm  through  his,  led  her 
to  the  house.  As  they  entered,  he  bent  his  head  and  said, 
in  a  low  tone  : 

“  Tell  me  candidly,  are  you  able  to  undergo  the  fatigue 
incident  to  this  journey  ?  I  fear  you  are  not.” 

“  Yes,  I  shall  perhaps  grow  stronger ;  at  any  rate,  if 
you  do  not  change  your  mind,  let  no  fears  for  me  influence 
you.” 

When  leaving,  he  said  it  was  probable  that  all  would  be 
in  readiness  for  their  departure  within  a  couple  of  days,  as 
he  wished  to  see  them  secure,  and  then  return. 

“  Mrs.  Carlton  will  accompany  us  when  she  learns  this 
terrible  news  ?  ”  said  Mary,  inquiringly. 

“  Oh  yes ;  I  cannot  consent  for  her  to  remain,  and  be¬ 
sides,  Mr.  Carlton  has  been  anxious  for  some  time  regarding 
his  family.” 

Florence,  having  read  the  note,  fully  approved  their 
promptly  removing,  and  all  necessary  preparations  were 
made  for  immediate  departure. 

Mary  longed  inexpressibly  to  impart  to  her  cousin  what 
she  had  learned  respecting  Mr.  Stewart,  but  shrank  instinc¬ 
tively  from  reviving  hopes  which  might  never  be  realized — - 
hopes  which  Florence  had  long  since  crushed  and  cast  out 


126 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 

of  her  heart  as  dead.  With  an  earnest  prayer  that  her  cou¬ 
sin  might  yet  be  blessed  and  happy,  Mary  determined  not 
to  broach  the  subject,  at  least  for  a  time.  Dr.  Bryant  with- 
out  delay  apprised  the  garrison  of  the  rumor  which  had 
reached  him,  and  a  courier  was  immediately  despatched  to 
headquarters  for  reinforcements  sufficient  to  defend  this 
important  fortress — this  key  of  the  state — from  the  powerful 
force  now  advancing  to  assault  it.  Horses  were  supplied 
with  alacrity,  for  he  had  made  many  and  warm  friends,  and 
two  large  tents,  together  with  a  baggage-wagon,  were  readily 
granted  to  one  who  so  nobly  contributed  to  the  relief  of  the 
sick,  wounded,  and  dying. 

At  length  every  arrangement  was  completed,  and  the 
next  morning  appointed  for  their  departure.  Aunt  Lizzy . 
had  objected  at  first,  but  speedily  became  reconciled  when 
Dr.  Bryant  painted,  in  a  graphic  manner,  the  horrors  which 
were  about  to  ensue. 

As  the  shades  of  evening  came  gently  on,  the  girls  set  out 
for  Mrs.  Carlton’s,  as  from  her  dwelling  they  commenced 
their  journey.  Aunt  Lizzy  remained  to  give  some  final  di« 
rection,  and  then  came  a  sorrowful  parting  with  their  serv¬ 
ants,  one  of  whom  took  Mary  in  her  arms  and  bade  God 
bless  her,  while  the  tears  rolled  over  her  wrinkled  face, 
Mary  could  not  repress  her  own,  and  she  sobbed  convul¬ 
sively.  Dr.  Bryant,  who  had  come  over  for  them,  laid  his 
hand  on  the  shoulder  of  the  true-hearted  negress,  and 
said  : 

“  Why,  Aunt  Fanny,  you  must  not  excite  Miss  Irving; 
she  is  not  strong,  you  know,  and  has  a  long  ride  before  her 
to-morrow.” 

“  Oh  yes,  Doctor,  it  will  do  well  enough  for  you  to  tell 
me  not  to  cry,  but  I  can’t  help  it,  for  I  love  her  as  if  she 
was  my  own  child,  and  if  I  thought  to  see  her  again  I  should 
not  grieve  so  much  ;  but  I  saw  her  mother  before  her,  and 
I  know  how  she  grew  pale  and  thin,  and  then  took  to  the 
sofa,  and  never  rose  up  till  she  was  carried  to  her  grave ; 
and  can’t  I  see  that  blessed  child  going  just  like  her  ?  Oh  l 
it’s  no  use  talking  to  me ;  she  ain’t  long  for  this  world,  and 
it’s  hard — yes,  it’s  hard  for  her  to  die  away  from  old 
Fanny  !  ”  and  she  covered  her  face  with  her  apron,  and 
sobbed  aloud. 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 


127 


Mary  wiped  her  own  tears  quickly  away,  and  taking  the 
hand  of  her  old  friend,  led  her  back  to  the  kitchen.  For 
several  moments  her  companions  waited  anxiously  for  her; 
and  soon  she  advanced  slowly  to  meet  them.  Frank  drew 
her  arm  through  his,  and  sadly  they  walked  away.  Passing 
the  gate,  Mary  paused  and  looked  out  on  the  river,  where 
she  had  so  often  sat  at  this  hour ;  and  sad  though  sweet 
associations,  infinite  in  number,  crowded  upon  her  mind. 

How  calm  and  beautiful  all  nature  seemed,  as  though 
arrayed  in  its  loveliest  garb  to  chain  her  affection,  that,  in 
after  years,  the  memory  of  that  western  home  might  steal 
gently  up  amidst  surrounding  gloom,  to  charm  away  the 
anguish  of  some  bitter  hour,  and  soothe  the  saddened  spirit. 
Her  heart  was  inexpressibly  touched,  and  she  averted  her 
head  to  conceal  the  expression  of  keen  sorrow  which  rested 
on  her  face. 

“  This  view  of  the  San  Antonio  has  often  struck  me  as 
particularly  fine,”  said  Dr.  Bryant,  turning  to  Florence, 
whose  pale  cheek  alone  attested  regret  at  leaving  her  home. 

“Yes,  I  know  none  superior;  and  our  favorite  ramble 
was  along  this  bank,  and  down  the  river  side.” 

“  Its  windings  are  multitudinous,  yet  how  graceful  every 
curve :  and  then,  the  deep  blue  of  its  waters  adds  not  a  little 
to  the  beauty  of  the  whole.  But  we  have  not  leisure  to 
admire  it  now,  for  your  cousin  must  not  be  chilled,  and  the 
wind  blows  freshly  from  the  north.” 

He  stepped  on  as  he  spoke,  but  feeling  the  small  hands 
clasped  over  his  arm,  looked  earnestly  down  into  the  pale 
face  at  his  side.  Mary  was  bending  a  last,  long  look  on 
house  and  tree  and  river ;  as  they  walked  on,  the  different 
objects  passed  beyond  her  view,  and  then  a  faint  moan  es¬ 
caped  her  lips.  She  met  the  anxious  gaze  of  her  friend,  and 
replied  to  its  silent  questoning ; 

“  Forgive  what  doubtless  seems  a  great  weakness.  You 
and  Florry  can  not  sympathize  with  me  now.  You  will  both 
return  ere  long,  but  my  eyes  have  rested  for  the  last 
time  on  each  loved  object.  I  have  dreaded  this  parting 
from  the  home  that  has  grown  so  dear  to  me — but  the 
pang  is  over.” 

Her  deep  blue  eyes  rested  on  his  face,  and  touchingly 
sad  was  the  expression,  as  she  swept  back  the  clustering 


128 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


hair  from  her  brow.  The  lips  quivered,  as  of  late  they 
often  did  when  she  was  excited.  Florence  did  not  hear 
her  words,  for  she  had  crossed  the  street ;  but  Frank’s  heart 
throbbed  violently  as  he  listened  to  her  low,  sad  tone. 
Laying  his  hand  on  hers,  that  were  tightly  clasped,  he 
pressed  them  gently,  and  said,  in  a  slightly  faltering  voice : 

“  For  Florence’s  sake — for  mine — for  your  own,  do  not 
give  way  to  such  gloomy  forebodings !  Your  depressed 
spirits  will  act  injuriously  on  your  health.  Let  me  beg  you 
to  place  no  confidence  in  Aunt  Fanny’s  words  at  parting ; 
she  was  herself  scarce  conscious  of  their  import.” 

“  I  have  no  gloomy  forebodings,  no  apprehension  of  the 
future,  and  generally  no  depressed  spirits  ;  but  I  know  full 
well  that  my  life  is  gradually  wasting  away,  slowly,  gently, 
and  almost  without  pain.  I  am  sinking  to  an  early  tomb. 
Yet  I  would  not  have  it  otherwise  if  I  could.  Death  has 
long  lost  all  terrors  for  me ;  I  have  no  fear — all  is  peace 
and  quiet.  I  am  paining  you.  Forgive  me,  Dr.  Bryant ; 
but  knowing  that  you  and  Florry  were  anxious  about  me, 
I  thought  it  best  to  tell  you  that  I  am  fully  aware  of  my 
danger,  if  so  I  can  term  what  I  would  not  avert. 

A  shudder  crept  over  the  strong  man  as  he  looked  down 
at  the  calm,  colorless  face  of  her  who  spoke  so  quietly  of 
death,  and  of  quitting  forever  the  scenes  she  loved  so  truly. 

“  I  cannot — will  not  believe  you  are  so  ill.  You  will 
grow  stronger  when  we  leave  this  place,  and  a  year  hence, 
when  quite  well  again,  you  will  beg  pardon  for  the  pain  you 
have  given  me.” 

A  faint  smile  played  round  the  thin  lips,  and  in  silence 
they  proceeded  to  Mrs.  Carlton’s. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

“  Who’s  here  besides  foul  weather  ?  ” 

Shakespeare. 

Far  away  stretched  the  prairie,  bounded,  ocean-like, 
only  by  the  horizon ;  the  monotony  occasionally  relieved  by 
clumps  of  aged  live  oaks,  which  tossed  their  branches  to 
and  fro  in  summer  breezes  and  in  wintry  blasts,  and  lent 


INEZ :  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO.  129 

a  mournful  cadence  to  the  howlings  of  the  tempest.  Now 
and  then  a  herd  of  deer,  lifting  proudly  their  antlered  heads, 
seemed  to  scorn  danger  from  the  hand  of  man,  as  they 
roamed  so  freely  over  the  wide,  desolate  waste  which  pos¬ 
sessed  no  visible  limits.  And  groups  of  cattle,  starting 
at  the  slightest  sound,  tossed  their  horns  in  defiance,  and 
browsed  along  the  mosquit,  in  many  places  so  luxuriant  as 
well-nigh  to  conceal  their  forms.  The  day  had  been  unu¬ 
sually  warm  for  January,  and  the  sun  beamed  down  with  a 
sickening  intensity  which  made  the  blood  tingle  in  the 
veins.  Toward  noon  the  sky  assumed  a  dull,  leaden  cast, 
and  light  flakes  of  cloud,  like  harbingers  of  evil,  scudded 
ominously  overhead.  The  sun  passed  the  zenith,  and  a 
low  sighing  breeze  swept  moaningly  across  the  wide  waste, 
even  as  the  wail  of  lost  spirits  floats  out  on  the  midnight 
air,  and  then  is  hushed  forever. 

The  cattle  that  stood  leisurely  cropping  about,  and  now 
and  then  moving  a  few  paces,  lifted  their  heads,  snuffed 
the  air,  and,  with  a  simultaneous  lowing,  started  at  full 
speed  to  the  timbered  tracts,  where  they  were  wont  to  resort 
for  shelter  from  the  winds  of  winter.  On,  on  they  rushed, 
till  in  the  distance  one  might  fancy  them  a  quantity  of 
beetles,  or  other  insects,  dotting  the  surface  before  them. 
Soon  not  a  vestige  remained  of  the  flying  herd,  and  happy  it 
was  for  them  they  made  good  their  retreat,  and  gained  a  place 
of  refuge  ere  the  “  norther’’  burst  in  all  its  keenness  on  the 
unprotected  plain.  Wildly  the  piercing  blasts  whistled 
through  the  trees,  and  rushed  furiously  on,  unimpeded  by 
the  forests,  which  in  more  eastern  lands  present  a  formi¬ 
dable  barrier  to  the  progress.  The  rain  began  to  fall  heavily, 
when  a  small  cavalcade  sought  the  protection  of  a  clump  of 
oaks,  by  placing  the  leafy  boughs  between  themselves  and 
the  beating,  driving  torrents.  The  party  consisted  of 
several  ladies  and  gentlemen,  two  children,  and  as  many 
servants  ;  the  latter  in  a  wagon,  the  remainder  on  horseback. 
With  all  possible  speed  the  gentlemen  dismounted,  and, 
tightly  buttoning  their  great-coats  about  them,  proceeded  to 
stretch  two  tents,  by  means  of  poles  and  pins,  carried  in  the 
wagon. 

Night  closed  in,  and  finding  a  sheltered  spot  beneath  the 

trees,  a  large  fire  was  kindled,  which  threw  its  ruddv  light 

9 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


130 

into  the  surrounding  tents,  and  illumined  the  entire  grove. 
The  horses  were  picketed  out,  almost  within  reach  from  the 
tents,  and  the  wagon  containing  their  stores  drawn  so  near 
as,  in  some  degree,  to  shelter  them.  The  servants  prepared 
the  evening  meal — simple,  it  is  true,  yet  enjoyed  far  more 
than  a  sumptuous  repast  of  Indian  delicacies,  and  untold 
ragouts,  eaten  without  the  sauce  of  hunger  produced  by  their 
long  ride.  More  than  a  week  had  elapsed  since  leaving  San 
Antonio,  and  Mary  had  borne  better  than  they  dared  to  hope 
the  fatigue  of  the  journey. 

To-night,  however,  she  lay  exhausted  on  her  pallet,  the 
thin  cheek  bright  with  fever :  gently  she  declined  all  that 
was  proffered,  and  her  hollow  cough  chased  the  smile  from 
the  lips  of  her  friends.  Dr.  Bryant  knelt  beside  her,  and 
taking  one  hot  hand  in  his  own,  asked,  in  a  low  anxious 
voice,  if  she  suffered. 

Turning  away  her  face,  she  said — “  Oh  no,  not  much. 
There  is,  however,  such  a  painful  throbbing  about  my  heart 
I  can  scarcely  breathe.  And  I  not  feverish  ?  ”  she  continued. 

“  Yes  and  he  placed  his  fingers  on  the  pulse,  beating 
violently.  “  I  am  afraid  you  have  taken  severe  cold — the 
day  has  been  so  inclement.  ”  And,  with  a  somewhat  un¬ 
steady  hand,  he  administered  a  potion. 

“  Don’t  feel  uneasy  about  me,  Doctor,  I  shall  be  better 
when  I  sleep.”  And  she  turned  away,  and  wearily  closed 
her  eyes. 

When  the  camp-fire  burned  low,  and  all  slumbered  save 
Mary,  who  could  not  calm  her  feverish  excitement,  and  lay 
wide  awake,  she  fancied  she  heard  steps  around  the  tent. 
All  was  silent ;  then  again  came  the  sound  ;  and  raising 
herself,  she  thought  she  perceived  some  one  standing  near 
the  entrance.  The  figure  disappeared,  and  then  followed 
a  rumbling,  stamping,  kicking,  as  though  the  horses  were 
verily  bewitched.  “  The  Indians  !  ”  thought  Mary  ;  and 
quickly  rising,  she  threw  a  black  mantle  round  her,  and 
creeping  to  the  door  of  the  tent,  peeped  cautiously  out. 
The  horses  still  seemed  restless,  stamping  and  snorting,  and 
she  thought  she  could  softly  reach  the  adjoining  tent  and 
rouse  the  gentlemen,  knowing  that  their  arms  were  in  read¬ 
iness.  She  had  just  stepped  out  of  her  own  tent,  and  stood 
out  of  doors,  when  she  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  dark,  muffled 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  A  LA  Ml,  131 

figure  walking  toward  her.  The  rain  had  ceased,  but  it  was 
very  dark,  and  only  by  the  aid  of  the  firelight,  now  grown 
dim,  she  perceived  it.  A  cold  shudder  crept  over  her,  as, 
raising  her  eyes  to  the  blackened  sky  but  an  instant,  she 
sprung  forward  toward  the  place  where  she  fancied  the 
gentlemen  were  sleeping.  A  hand  was  laid  on  her  arm,  and  . 
a  deep  voice  sounded  in  her  ear : 

“  Be  not  alarmed,  Miss  Mary,  I  am  here  1  ” 

She  trembled  so  that  she  could  scarcely  stand.  He  sup* 
ported  her  a  moment,  ere  she  replied  in  a  whisper — 

“  What  causes  the  disturbance  to-night  ?  ” 

“  I  feel  assured  there  are  Indians  about,  though  you  need 
fear  nothing,  for  they  are  not  in  sufficient  numbers  to  attack 
us.  There  are  four  men  in  our  party — nearly  a  dozen  mus¬ 
kets,  besides  my  pistols,  and  plenty  of  ammunition.  Were 
you  one  of  the  timid  sort,  I  should  not  venture  to  tell  you 
my  apprehensions  :  but  I  know  that  you  are  not.  I  have 
not  slept,  or  even  lain  down ;  and  a  while  ago,  I  heard  the 
sound  of  hoofs  approaching.  Taking  my  pistols,  I  went 
round  to  the  horses,  and  had  not  waited  many  moments 
before  I  saw  two  figures,  evidently  reconnoitering  and  plan¬ 
ning  the  abduction  of  our  horses,  who  seemed  much  alarmed. 

I  suppose  the  intruders  must  have  seen  me,  for  they  suddenly 
wheeled  off  and  galloped  away.’* 

“  Perhaps  there  is  a  party  not  far  distant,  for  whose  as¬ 
sistance  they  have  gone.” 

“  Possibly,  though  I  think  not  •*  but  you  must  not  stand 
on  this  wet  ground.”  He  led  her  to  the  tent,  and  seating 
himself  near  the  door,  continued : 

“  I  shall  not  sleep  to-night,  and  rest  assured  you  will  be 
most  carefully  guarded.  You  were  imprudent  to  venture  out 
on  such  a  night.” 

“  What !  when  I  thought  there  was  danger,  and  none, 
save  myself,  aware  of  it  ?  ” 

“  Did  you  think  I  could  rest,  knowing,  as  I  do,  how  you 
are  suffering  ?  ” 

“  I  never  imagined  you  were  up,  or  watching,  for  I  heard 
no  sound  near  me.” 

“Well,  no  matter;  sleep,  if  you  can,  and  dream  of  peace, 
and  quiet,  and  perfect  happiness.”  He  sighed  heavily  as 
he  spoke,  and  rising,  renewed  the  fire. 


132 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 


Mary  lay  watching  him  as  he  paced  to  and  fro  in  front  of 
the  burning  logs — his  arms  folded  across  his  chest,  and  his 
cap  drawn  over  the  brow  :  gradually  a  sense  of  utter  weariness 
stole  over  her,  and  she  slept. 

At  dawn  a  bustle  commenced  in  the  camp,  and  prepara¬ 
tion  made — first  for  breakfast,  then  for  moving. 

When  Mary  came  out,  her  pale  face  and  wearied  look  at¬ 
tracted  Mrs.  Carlton’s  attention. 

“  My  dear  child,  I  am  afraid  you  are  scarcely  able  to 
travel  to-day  ;  did  you  not  sleep  well  ?  ” 

“  Not  so  soundly  as  I  could  have  wished,”  she  said,  pass¬ 
ing  her  hand  over  her  brow,  as  if  to  remove  some  painful 
thought. 

Dr.  Bryant  acquainted  them  with  the  adventures  of  the 
night  suggesting,  that  in  future  some  of  the  party  should 
watch,  as  security  for  their  horses ;  and  all  agreed  that  it 
was  advisable. 

“  How  readily  one  might  suppose  this  a  gipsy  encamp¬ 
ment.  Miss  Hamilton  and  myself  are  quite  dark  enough  to 
favor  the  illusion,  and  Ellen  and  Mr.  Carlton  would  pass  as 
of  gipsy  descent ;  but  what  would  they  think  of  Miss  Mary  ? 
She  is  decidedly  anti-gipsy  in  her  appearance.” 

“  I  can  tell  you,  Uncle  Frank,”  cried  Elliot,  clapping  his 
hands  ;  “  they  would  take  Miss  Mary  for  an  angel  that  came 
to  our  tent,  like  the  one  that  came  down  to  see  Abraham.” 

“  Unfortunately,  angels  never  appear  in  the  form  of  a 
lady,  Elliot ;  so  you  must  tax  your  ingenuity  to  dispose  of 
me  in  a  different  manner,”  said  Mary,  smiling  gently  on  the 
noble  boy  beside  her. 

“  Indeed,  I  would  sooner  think  you  ought  to  be  an  angel 
than  any  gentleman  I  know,  or  lady  either ;  don’t  you  think 
so  too,  Uncle  Frank  ?  ” 

“  Certainly  I  do ;  but,  Elliot,  you  should  not  have  made 
me  say  so  in  Miss  Florence’s  presence.  You  forget  that 
she  is  also  a  young  lady.” 

“  No,  I  don’t,  uncle,  and  I  ask  her  pardon  if  I  was  rude ; 
but  I  heard  you  say  Miss  Mary  was  an  angel,  and  though  I 
like  Miss  Florence  very  much  indeed,  I  can’t  help  thinking 
so  too.” 

Dr.  Bryant’s  cheek  flushed,  and  he  glanced  quickly  at 
Mary.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Carlton  and  Florence  laughed  good- 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO .  133 

naturedly;  and  laying  his  hand  on  the  boy’s  head,  Frank 
said  : 

“  My  very  promising  nephew,  you  will  never  be  accused 
of  want  of  candor  if  you  grow  up  in  your  present  spirit,” 

Mary  drew  the  child  to  her,  and  whispered  in  his  ear : 

“  Your  uncle  meant  that  I  should  soon  be  in  Heaven,  El¬ 
liot  ;  and  I  hope  it  will  not  be  very  long  before  I  am  an 
angel.  Don’t  you  see  how  thin  and  pale  I  am  ?  ” 

Elliot’s  eyes  filled,  as  he  looked  earnestly  at  the  gentle 
girl,  so  wasted  of  late,  and  throwing  his  arms  about  her 
neck,  he  hid  his  face  on  her  shoulder,  and  murmured : 

“  Oh  1  you  must  not  go  from  us — we  can’t  spare  you  even 
to  God  l  Why  does  he  want  tc  take  you  ?  He  has  plenty 
of  angels  already  around  him  1  Mother  and  uncle  and  I 
had  almost  as  soon  die  ourselves  as  see  you  go  away 
forever.” 

None  heard  what  passed  between  them  ;  but  Mrs.  Carl¬ 
ton  saw  a  look  of  pain  on  Mary’s  pure  white  brow,  and 
gently  drawing  her  son  away,  changed  the  conversation  by 
asking  if  it  would  not  be  better  for  Mary  to  ride  awhile  in 
the  wagon. 

“  I  am  afraid  she  would  find  the  jolting  rather  too  much 
for  her.  However,  it  will  answer  as  a  change,  and  by  driv¬ 
ing  myself,  I  can  avoid  many  inequalities.  So,  Miss  Irving, 
make  up  your  mind  to  relinquish  your  babicca  at  least  for 
to-day.” 

“  You  are  very  kind,  Dr.  Bryant,  but  I  greatly  prefer  your 
riding  as  usual.  Indeed  you  need  not  look  so  incredulous* 
I  won’t  allow  you  to  make  such  a  sacrifice.” 

“  I  was  not  aware  that  I  was  making  any  sacrifice,”  he 
coldly  answered,  and  turned  away. 

Mary’s  lip  quivered  with  internal  pain,  but  she  offered  no 
further  opposition. 

All  was  in  readiness  for  moving  on.  Dr.  Bryant  stood 
arranging  Florence’s  bridle,  and  bantering  her  on  her  inat¬ 
tention  to  the  reins.  She  laughed  in  her  turn. 

“  Indeed,  Doctor,  don’t  you  think  me  a  capital  horse¬ 
woman  ?  you  will  certainly  admit  it,  after  being  vanquished 
in  a  race  ?  ” 

“  Really,  Miss  Florence,  I  rather  think  the  credit  due  to 
your  fine  horse  than  to  your  skill  as  a  rider. 


*34 


XNEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


“  Ah,  incorrigible  as  usual,  I  see,  Doctor  l ”  and  she  rode 
j>ff  to  join  Mr.  Carlton. 

Mr.  Carlton  had  placed  Mary  in  the  wagon,  and  carefully 
arranged  her  shawls  that  she  might  rest  easily.  Frank 
quietly  seated  himself,  and  drove  on. 

“  I  shall  not  exert  myself  in  the  least  to  entertain  you, 
so  you  need  not  expect  it ;  for  having  very  politely  told  me 
you  did  not  desire  my  company,  I  shall  not  disturb  you  with 
my  chatter,  I  promise  you,  and  take  this  opportunity  to 
inform  you  that  my  tympanums  are  at  your  service  the 
remainder  of  the  day.** 

He  glanced  over  his  shoulder  at  the  frail  form  nearly  bur- 
led  beneath  the  weight  of  shawls  and  cloaks  wrapt  about 
her.  She  smiled,  and  laid  her  head  on  her  arm  :  as  she  did 
so,  he,  looking  at  her,  failed  to  perceive  a  large  stone  in  the 
track,  and  the  wheels  passing  directly  over  it  caused  the 
wagon  to  jolt  most  unmercifully. 

Florence  was  just  in  the  rear,  and,  unable  to  control  her 
mirth,  laughed  outright  as  Frank  and  Mary  bounced  up  and 
down ;  and,  riding  up  to  them,  merrily  asked  “  if  Mary  duly 
appreciated  her  good  fortune  in  having  so  careful  and  scien¬ 
tific  a  driver  ?  ” 

Not  a  little  amused,  yet  scarce  able  to  laugh,  the  latter  re¬ 
plied  that  “  she  did  indeed  congratulate  herself  on  the  change 
of  drivers,  as  she  would  not  have  survived  the  day  had  it 
been  otherwise.” 

Frank  joined  heartily  in  their  merriment. 

“  Miss  Hamilton,”  said  he,  “  if  you  only  knew  what 
caused  me  to  overlook  that  unfortunate  stone,  you  would  be 
more  lenient  in  your  criticisms.” 

“  I  am  very  sure  you  will  adduce  every  possible  reason  in 
your  own  favor,  sir,  and  therefore  feel  no  sympathy  for  your 
carelessness,”  she  retorted. 

“  Really  you  make  me  out  as  incorrigible  a  self-excuser 
as  the  heroine  of  Miss  Edgeworth’s  juvenile  tales ;  though 
even  she  chanced  upon  a  good  excuse  occasionally.  Come, 
try  me,  and  see  what  I  can  urge  in  my  own  defense.” 

“  Well,  then,  I  ask  you,  a  la  Godfrey ,  what  you  were 
thinking  of  when  you,  who  had  an  ailing  lady  in  your  cart, 
drove  directly  over  the  largest  rock  you  have  seen  in  a 
week  ?  ” 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO •  135 

“In  the  first  place,  I  did  n  t  see  it.  You  need  not  look 
quite  so  incredulous ;  I  assure  you  I  did  not.” 

“  That  is  very  evident,  but  no  excuse  at  all.  Pray,  wh„re 
were  your  eyes  ?  ” 

“  Where  nature  intended  them  to  be,  I  suppose.” 

“  Nonsense  !  why  didn’t  you  use  them  ?  ” 

«  Because  I  have  not  the  faculty  of  looking  two  ways  at 
Once,  like  Brahma  ;  and  my  optics  were  irresistibly  drawn 
in  an  opposite  direction.” 

“  A  truce  to  all  such  excuses !  ” 

“  Patience,  Miss  Florence,  hear  me  only  once  more.  The 
reason  is,  that  I  was  looking  at  your  cousin  over  there,  and 
calculating  the  chances  of  her  surviving  suffocation.” 

“  There  is  certainly  some  danger.  Pray,  Mary,  why 
wrap  up  so  closely  ?  ^Eolus  has  closed  the  mouth  of  his 
cave,  and  the  warring  winds  are  securely  pent  in  their 
prison.” 

“  Are  you  not  very  much  edified  Miss  Mary?  I  should 
beg  pardon  for  such  a  waste  of  time  and  talk,  if  I  were  not 
aware  that 

“  i  A  little  nonsense  now  and  then, 

Is  relished  by  the  wisest  men.’ M 

As  Mary  made  no  reply,  he  turned  around  and  regarded 
her  earnestly,  Her  hat  had  fallen  back  from  the  face,  which 
rested  on  his  black  cloak.  Every  vestige  of  mirth  fled  from 
his  countenance  as  they  gazed  on  the  sleeping  girl.  The 
feverish  flush  had  left  the  cheek,  now  perfectly  wan ;  the 
dark  brown  hair  clung  on  the  pure,  beautiful  brow,  and  be¬ 
neath  the  closed  eyes  were  dark  circles,  traced  by  mental 
suffering.  The  expression  of  the  face  was  perfectly  calm, 
yet  a  wearied  look,  as  though  longing  to  be  at  rest,  lingered 
there.  So  motionless  she  lay,  that  Frank  hastily  placed  his 
hand  on  hers  to  feel  if  warmth  and  vitality  remained. 
Slowly  and  faint  came  the  pulsations,  and,  as  he  watched 
her  deathlike  slumber,  his  cheek  grew  pale,  a  look  of  un¬ 
utterable  anguish  settled  on  his  noble  brow,  and  the  finely 
cut  lips  were  tightly  compressed,  as  with  some  acute  though 
hidden  pain.  Florence  slowly  returned  to  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Carlton — no  smile  passed  her  lips  the  remainder  of  the  day  \ 
she  seemed  now,  for  the  first  time,  to  realize  her  cousin’s 


tNEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 


136 

danger,  and  naught  could  divert  her  mind  from  this  new 
grief. 

Dr.  Bryant  bent  his  head  upon  his  breast,  and  murmured 
in  saddened  tones  :  “  Oh,  Mary  !  Mary  !  how  gladly  would 
I  give  all  I  possess  on  earth  to  see  you  strong  and  well 
again.” 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

“And  therefore  my  heart  is  heavy 
With  a  sense  of  unquiet  pain, 

For  but  Heaven  can  tell  if  the  parted 
Shall  meet  in  the  earth  again. 

“  With  Him  be  the  time  and  the  season 
Of  our  meeting  again  with  thee  : 

Whether  here,  on  these  earthly  borders, 

Or  the  shore  of  the  world  to  be.” 

Carey. 

One  day  our  party  had  traveled  further  than  on  any  pre« 
vious  occasion :  long  and  tedious  was  the  ride,  still  they 
pushed  on,  hoping  to  reach  some  stream  ere  the  tents  were 
pitched  for  the  night,  as  an  abundant  supply  of  pure  fresh 
water  was  essential  to  the  comfort  of  their  camp.  In  the 
metaphorical  strain  of  a  certain  writer — “  Phoebus  drove  his 
steeds  to  be  foddered  in  their  western  stables.”  Slowly 
twilight  fell  upon  the  earth,  and,  one  by  one,  the  lamps  of 
heaven  were  lit.  The  wagon  in  which  Dr.  Bryant  and  Mary 
rode  was  rather  in  the  rear  of  the  party,  as  the  riders  pressed 
anxiously  forward.  The  cool  night-wind  blew  fresh  upon  the 
fevered  brow  of  the  invalid,  and  gently  lifted  and  bore  back 
the  clustering  curls. 

“  I  am  very  much  afraid  you  will  take  cold :  ”  and  Dr. 
Bryant  wrapped  his  coat  carefully  about  her. 

“  Thank  you :  ”  and  she  sank  back  in  its  heavy  folds,  and 
looked  up  to  the  brilliant  firmament,  where  the  stars  glittered, 
like  diamonds  on  a  ground  of  black  velvet,  in  the.  clear, 
frosty  air. 

“  Orion  has  culminated  ;  and  how  splendidly  it  glows  to* 
night,  I  think  I  never  saw  it  so  brilliant.” 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO .  137 

“  Perhaps  it  appears  so  from  the  peculiar  position  whence 
you  view  it.  You  never  observed  it  before  from  a  wagon, 
in  a  broad  prairie,  with  naught  intervening  between  the 
constellation  and  yourself  save  illimitable  space,  though  I 
agree  with  you  in  thinking  it  particularly  splendid.  I  have 
ever  regarded  it  as  the  most  beautiful  among  the  many  con¬ 
stellations  which  girt  the  heavens.” 

“  I  have  often  wondered  if  Cygnus  was  not  the  favorite  of 
papists,  Dr.  Bryant.” 

“  Ah  !  it  never  occurred  to  me  before,  but,  since  you  men¬ 
tion  it,  I  doubt  not  they  are  partial  to  it.  How  many  super¬ 
stitious  horrors  are  infused  into  childish  brains  by  nurses 
and  nursery  traditions  !  I  well  remember  with  what  terror 
I  regarded  the  Dolphin,  or,  in  common  parlance,  ‘Job’s 
Coffin,’  having  been  told  that,  when  that  wrathful  cluster 
was  on  the  meridian,  some  dreadful  evil  would  most  inevita¬ 
bly  befall  all  who  ventured  to  look  upon  it ;  and  often,  in  my 
boyhood,  I  have  covered  my  face  with  my  hands,  and  asked 
its  whereabouts.  Indeed  I  regarded  it  much  as  H£neas  did 
Orion,  when  he  says : 

“  *  To  that  blest  shore  we  steered  our  destined  way. 

When  sudden  dire  Orion  roused  the  sea  ! 

All  charged  with  tempests  rose  the  baleful  star, 

And  on  our  navy  poured  his  watery  war.’ 

The  contemplation  of  the  starry  heavens  has  ever  exerted 
an  elevating  influence  on  my  mind.  In  viewing  its  glories, 
I  am  borne  far  from  the  puerilities  of  earth,  and  my  soul 
seeks  a  purer  and  more  noble  sphere.” 

“  Your  quotation  from  Virgil  recalled  a  passage  in  Job — 
‘  Seek  him  that  maketh  the  seven  stars  and  Orion,  and  turn- 
eth  the  shadow  of  death  into  morning.’  Oh  !  how  inimitably 
sublime  is  inspired  language — and  ‘  turneth  the  shadow  of 
death  into  morning.’  And  how  comforting  the  promise  con¬ 
veyed,”  said  Mary,  earnestly. 

“  Miss  Irving,  don’t  you  admire  Cassiopeia  very  much  ? ” 
said  Dr.  Bryant,  wishing  to  turn  the  current  of  her  thoughts. 
“  I  think  it  very  beautiful,  particularly  when  it  occupies  its 
present  position,  and,  as  it  were,  offers  to  weary  travelers 
so  inviting  a  seat.  Yet  often  I  am  strangely  awed,  in  gaz¬ 
ing  on  the  group  so  enveloped  in  unfathomable  mystery. 


138  INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 

Who  may  say  when  another  of  its  jewels  shall  flicker  and  go 
out  ?  And  when  may  not  our  own  world  to  other  planets 
be  a  ‘  Lost  Star  ?  *  How  childish  associations  cling  to  one 
in  after  years.  I  never  looked  up  at  Cassiopeia,  without  re* 
calling  the  time  when  my  tutor  gave  me  as  a  parsing  lesson, 
the  first  lines  of  the  *  Task  5 — literally  a  task  to  me  (mind  I 
do  not  claim  the  last  as  original,  for  it  is  a  plagiarism  on 
somebody,  I  forget  now  who).  My  teacher  first  read  the 
passage  carefully  over,  explaining  each  idea  intended  to  be 
conveyed,  and  at  the  conclusion  turned  to  an  assistant,  and 
remarked  that  ‘  with  Cassiopeia  for  a  model,  he  wondered 
chairs  were  not  earlier  constructed.’  I  wondered  in  silence 
what  that  hard  word  could  signify,  and  at  length  summoned 
courage  to  ask  an  explanation.  A  few  nights  afterward, 
visiting  at  my  father’s,  he  took  me  out,  pointed  to  the  con¬ 
stellation,  and  gave  the  origin  of  the  name,  while,  to  my 
great  joy,  I  discovered  the  resemblance  to  a  chair.  Ah ! 
that  hour  is  as  fresh  in  my  memory  as  though  I  stood  but 
last  night  by  his  side  and  listened  to  his  teachings. 

“  Yes,  who  will  deny  the  magic  influence  of  association  ? 
After  all,  Dr.  Bryant,  it  is  not  the  intrinsic  beauty  of  an 
object  that  affords  us  such  delight,  but  ofttimes  the  memory 
of  the  happy  past,  so  blended  with  the  beauty  viewed  as 
scarcely  to  be  analyzed  in  the  soothing  emotions  which  steal 
into  the  heart.  Such  a  night  as  this  ever  reminds  me  of 
the  beautiful  words  of  Willis,  in  his  (  Contemplations ; 9  and, 
like  Alethe,  I  often  ask,  6  When  shall  I  gather  my  wings, 
and,  like  a  rushing  thought,  stretch  onward,  star  by  star,  up 
into  heaven  ?  ’  ” 

A  silence  ensued  for  several  moments,  and  then  the  cry 
of  “  Water  1  ”  “  water !  ”  fell  refreshingly  on  the  ears  of  the 
wearied  travelers,  and  the  neighboring  stream  was  hailed  as 
joyfully  as  was  in  olden  time  the  well  of  Gem-Gem. 

Soon  the  tents  were  pitched,  and  a  bright  crackling  fire 
kindled.  Florence,  declaring  she  was  too  much  fatigued  for 
supper,  threw  herself  on  her  pallet.  Aunt  Lizzy  and  Mrs. 
Carlton  were  busily  unpacking  some  of  their  utensils,  and 
Mary,  closely  wrapt  up,  stood  by  the  blazing  logs,  thinking 
how  cheerful  its  ruddy  light  made  every  object  seem,  and 
wondering  if,  after  all,  the  Ghebers  were  so  much  to  blame. 
Mr.  Carlton  joined  her ;  and  after  inquiring  how  she  bore 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO .  139 

their  very  fatiguing  ride,  remarked  that  in  a  few  more  days 
their  journeyings  would  be  over. 

“  I  shall  almost  regret  its  termination.  This  mode  of 
traveling  seems  very  pleasant  to  me,  and  you,  who  are 
strong  and  well,  must  enjoy  it  much  more.” 

Just  then  the  sound  of  approaching  hoofs  caused  her  to 
look  toward  their  wagon  ;  and  she  perceived  two  men  mount¬ 
ed,  one  in  the  act  of  descending,  while  Dr.  Bryant  advanced 
quickly  to  meet  him. 

Mr.  Carlton  left  her.  Silently  she  looked  on,  wondering 
who  the  strangers  could  possibly  be,  when  the  words  fell 
with  startling  distinctness  on  her  listening  ear : 

“  Dudley  Stewart !  do  my  eyes  deceive  me  ?  ” 

“  Frank  Bryant  is  it  possible  I  meet  you  here  ?  ” 

The  tones  of  the  last  speaker  were  too  familiar  to  be  mis¬ 
taken.  She  trembled  from  head  to  foot  as  the  past  rose 
before  her.  Her  first  thought  was  of  Florence. 

“  Oh,  if  he  is  married,  this  meeting  will  be  terrible  !  ”  and 
her  heart  throbbed  violently  as  the  gentlemen  approached 
her.  Scarce  conscious  of  her  movements,  she  advanced  to 
meet  Dr.  Bryant,  whose  arm  was  linked  in  that  of  the  new 
comer.  They  met :  the  fire-light  glowed  on  the  face  of  both*  % 

“  Mr.  Stewart !  ”  and  the  wasted  hand  was  extended. 

“  Mary  Irving !  or  is  this  an  illusion  ?  ”  Tightly  the 
hand  was  clasped. 

“  It  is  I — your  old  pupil,  though  so  altered,  I  wonder  not 
that  you  fail  to  recognize  me.”  She  lifted  her  eyes  and  met 
Dr.  Bryant’s  gaze,  deep  and  piercing,  as  though  he  were 
reading  her  inmost  soul.  Mr.  Stewart  looked  long  at  the 
face  turned  toward  him. 

“  Frank,  you  did  not  tell  me  she  was  with  you  !  Oh,  how 
changed — how  wasted  you  are  !  But  what  means  this  black 
dress  ?  ”  and  his  fingers  clutched  her  mourning  gown,  while 
his  deep  tone  faltered.  Mary  drew  closer  to  his  side,  and 
murmured : 

“  Florry  is  well :  but  my  uncle  has  been  taken  from  us.” 
Her  head  sunk  on  her  bosom  as  she  spoke. 

“  Where  is  Florence  ?  ”  and  he  tightly  clasped  her  hand 
between  his  own. 

A  shudder  crept  over  Dr.  Bryant,  who  had  not  heard 

their  words,  and  he  walked  quickly  away, 


140 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 


“  Florry  is  in  the  tent.  Mr.  Stewart,  we  heard  that  you 
were  married  ;  can  this  be  true  ?  ” 

“  No,  no  !  Did  your  cousin  credit  the  report  ?  ” 

“  Yes ;  and  ere  you  make  yourself  known,  let  me  in  some 
degree  prepare  her  for  the  meeting.” 

So  saying,  she  sought  Florence,  and  asked  if  she  were 
sleeping. 

“  No,  Mary ;  can  I  do  anything  for  you  ?  ”  and  she 
raised  her  head. 

“  Yes,  Florry,  come  with  me — I  want  to  speak  to  you.” 

Her  cousin  accompanied  her  to  the  door,  and  standing  so 
that  the  tent  intervened  between  them  and  Mr.  Stewart, 
Mary  lgid  her  hand  on  Florence’s  shoulder,  and  said : 

“  I  have  just  learned,  Florry,  that  Mr.  Stewart  is  not 
married.” 

“  Mary,  Mary  l  why  touch  a  chord  which  ever  vibrates 
with  the  keenest  agony  ?  There  is  no  happiness  for  me  on 
earth — I  have  known  that  for  long,  and  now  I  am  striving 
to  fix  my  thoughts,  and  all  of  hope  that  remains,  on 
heaven.” 

Mary  linked  her  arm  in  Florence’s,  and  gently  drawing 
her  forward,  replied  : 

“  God  has  not  promised  heaven  as  the  price  of  every 
earthly  joy  and  comfort.  Can  you  not  still  hope  for  happi¬ 
ness  ?  ” 

“  Mary,  I  am  parted  forever  from  him  whom  I  have  loved 
so  devotedly  ;  yet  I  cease  to  repine.  I  know  my  lot,  and  I 
will  pass  through  life  alone,  yes,  alone,  without  a  murmur.” 

“  Not  so,  Florence — my  own  treasured  Florence  1  ” 

She  turned  quickly,  and  was  clasped  to  the  heart  of  him 
she  had  sworn  to  love  alone. 

“  Am  I  dreaming  ?  ”  said  Florence,  gazing  eagerly  up  into 
the  noble  face  before  her.  He  lifted  his  cap  from  his  brow, 
and  bent  his  head  that  the  light  might  fall  full  upon  it.  A 
gleam  of  perfect  joy  irradiated  her  beautiful  face,  and,  lean¬ 
ing  her  head  on  his  shoulder,  she  whispered :  “  Forgive  me 
- — for  I  doubted  you.” 

He  bent,  and  sealed  her  pardon  with  a  long  kiss. 

Mary  stole  away  to  Mrs.  Carlton  to  impart  the  good  news ; 
Dr.  Bryant  had  already  communicated  it.  Warmly  she  sym¬ 
pathized  with  them  in  again  meeting  an  old  friend ;  but 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 


141 


Mary  heeded  not  her  words,  for  her  eyes  were  riveted  on 
Frank’s  stern  brow  and  slightly  curling  lip.  A  mist  rose 
before  her,  and  catching  for  support  at  the  tent,  she  would 
have  fallen,  had  not  his  strong  arm  encircled  her  ;  and  soon 
she  lay  motionless  in  her  tent.  He  stood  and  looked  on  her 
a  moment,  then  knelt  and  clasped  the  cold  hands.  Mary 
had  not  swooned,  though  well-nigh  insensible,  and  a  low 
moan  of  anguish  escaped  her  lips,  colorless,  and  writhing 
with  pain. 

“  Can  I  do  nothing  for  you  ?  ” 

“  No,  thank  you  ;  only  do  not  tell  Florry  and  Mr. 
Stewart  I  am  ill.  It  would  only  damp  the  joy  of  their 
meeting.” 

He  left  her,  and  met  the  lovers  as  they  sought  the  re¬ 
mainder  of  the  party.  He  understood  at  a  glance  the  posi¬ 
tion  of  affairs,  and  with  the  sad  conviction  that  Mary  loved 
Mr.  Stewart,  and  loved  him  in  vain,  he  strove  to  repress  his 
emotion  and  appear  as  usual. 

Florence  withdrew  her  hand  from  Mr.  Stewart’s  clasp,  and, 
with  a  deep  blush,  passed  Frank  in  order  to  reach  the  tent. 
He  placed  himself  before  it. 

“  Miss  Hamilton,  I  can’t  allow  any  one  to  disturb  your 
cousin ;  she  is  almost  exhausted  by  our  long  ride,  and  I  for¬ 
bid  all  company,  as  she  needs  rest  and  quiet.” 

“  I  will  not  disturb  her  in  the  least,  I  assure  you,  Doctor.” 
But  he  persisted,  and  she  was  forced  to  form  one  of  the 
circle  that  now  gathered  round  the  fire. 

Mr.  Stewart,  in  answer  to  Dr.  Bryant’s  inquiries,  replied 
that  he  had  long  felt  anxious  to  visit  San  Antonio,  but  had 
been  detained  at  home  by  important  business  till  within  a 
few  weeks,  when  he  set  out  for  Austin,  and  obtaining  there 
a  sort  of  guide  and  companion,  was  hastening  on,  hoping  to 
reach  the  former  place  ere  the  arrival  of  the  Mexican 
forces. 

“  Having  heard,”  continued  he,  “  that  Mr.  Hamilton’s 
death  left  his  family  somewhat  unprotected,  I  felt  particu¬ 
larly  anxious  on  their  account.  Seeing  your  camp-fire,  at¬ 
tracted  us  in  this  direction,  and  happy  am  I  to  meet  so 
many  old  friends.” 

To  Florence  he  had  been  far  more  explicit,  detailing  the 

causes  which  produced  a  most  fortunate  change  in  his  cir- 


142 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


Cumstances,  and  his  immediate  determination  to  scck  net 
in  her  Western  home. 

“  You  will  return  with  us  to  Washington  then,  Stewart,  as 
we  possess  the  treasure  you  are  in  search  of  ?  ” 

“  Yes,  if  none  of  the  party  offer  any  objection,”  replied  he. 

“  I  don’t  know  that  any  feel  disposed  to  act  so  ungrate* 
fully  :  suppose  we  inquire,  however.  Miss  Hamilton,  have 
you  any  objection  to  receiving,  as  an  escort  and  protector, 
this  amiable  cavalier,  who  has  wandered  so  far  from  home 
to  offer  his  services  ?  ” 

“  Frank,  it  is  hardly  fair  to  make  her  speak  for  the  party; 
some  may  differ  with  her,  on  so  important  a  point.” 

“You  seem  quite  certain  as  to  her  sentiments  on  this 
subject.  Upon  my  word,  Miss  Florence,  if  I  were  you,  I 
should  most  assuredly  take  this  occasion  to  teach  him  a 
little  humility ;  for  instance,  just  tell  him  it  makes  no  differ¬ 
ence  with  you — that  it  is  perfectly  immaterial.” 

“  In  following  your  advice,  Doctor,  the  responsibility  will 
be  inevitably  transferred  to  yourself ;  and  I  must  thank  you 
for  so  politely  relieving  me.” 

“  I  see  no  reason,  Stewart,  wdiy  you  should  not  join  our 
party,  and  lend  your  assistance  toward  enlivening  the  tedi* 
ous  hours  yet  in  store  for  us  ;  though  only  a  few  more  days 
of  travel  remain,  thank  Heaven.” 

“  One  would  suppose,  from  the  fear  of  ennui  which  seems 
to  cloud  your  future,  that  Mary  and  I  had  not  succeeded  so 
happily  as  we  imagined,  in  our  efforts  to  entertain  you.” 

“  Pardon  me,  Miss  Florence,  if  I  have  failed  duly  to  ap¬ 
preciate  your  kind  efforts ;  though  candor  compels  the 
avowal,  that  I  was  not  aware  any  extraordinary  exertion  was 
made  in  my  behalf.” 

“  Really,  Frank,  I  should  say  you  have  made  considerable 
progress  in  raising  yourself  in  your  own  estimation  since 
last  I  heard  you  converse.  Mrs.  Carlton,  I  am  afraid  this 
climate  is  unfavorable  for  the  growth  of  at  least  two  of  the 
cardinal  virtues.” 

“  Your  insinuation  is  contemptible,  because  utterly  with¬ 
out  grounds.  Miss  Florence,  I  appeal  to  you,  as  worthy  the 
privilege  of  acting  as  umpire  in  this  important  discussion. 
Have  you  ever  observed  aught  in  my  conduct  indicating  a 
want  of  humility  ?  99 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 


J43 


“  Unfortunately,  Doctor,  should  I  return  an  answer  in 
your  favor,  it  would  be  at  the  expense  of  a  virtue  equally 
entitled  to  pre-eminence.” 

“  To  the  very  candid  Miss  Hamilton,  I  must  return  thanks 
for  her  disinterested  and  very  flattering  decision.” 

Here  the  conversation  was  interrupted  by  a  call  to  the 
evening  meal,  and  gladly  they  obeyed  the  welcome  sum¬ 
mons. 

Florence  glancing  round  perceived  the  absence  of  her 
cousin,  and  inquired  the  cause. 

“  I  dare  say  she  is  asleep,  poor  child,”  said  Aunt  Lizzy. 

“  She  is  trying  to  rest,  Miss  Hamilton,  and  I  would  not 
advise  any  interruption.  She  needs  quiet,  for  she  was  sorely 
tried  by  this  day’s  fatigues,”  observed  Dr.  Bryant. 

“  I  am  afraid  so,”  replied  Florence,  an  anxious  look  again 
settling  on  her  face.  “  Oh,  I  wish  on  her  account  we  could 
reach  a  place  of  rest  and  safety.  I  fear  she  has  failed  in 
strength  since  leaving  San  Antonio.” 

“  How  sadly  changed  she  has  become  :  had  she  not  spoken 
in  her  old,  familiar  tones,  I  should  not  have  known  her.  I 
earnestly  hope  there  is  nothing  serious  in  her  attack,  and 
that  she  will  soon  regain  her  former  bloom ;  it  pains  me  to 
see  her  so  altered,”  said  Mr.  Stewart. 

“  Sh'e  cannot  possibly  improve  while  subjected  to  the 
fatigues  of  this  journey.  I  feared  she  was  scarce  able  to 
endure  it,”  answered  Frank. 

The  conversation  turned  on  more  agreeable  topics,  and 
soon — by  all  but  Frank,  who  could  not  forget  her  look  of 
anguish — she  was  for  a  time  forgotten. 

Mary  heard  from  her  couch  of  suffering  the  cheerful 
blending  of  voices*  though  nothing  distinct  reached  her  ear  ; 
and  as  none  approached  to  soothe  her  by  affectionate  in¬ 
quiries,  a  sense  of  neglect  stole  over  her.  But  too  habit¬ 
ually  accustomed  to  judge  gently  of  others  and  forget  herself, 
it  passed  quickly  away.  She  knelt  on  her  pallet,  and  clasp¬ 
ing  her  thin  hands,  raised  her  heart  to  God,  in  the  low,  feeble 
tone  of  one  well-nigh  spent : 

“  My  God,  thou  readest  my  heart  1  Thou  knowest  how, 
day  by  day,  I  have  striven  to  love  thee  more  and  serve  thee 
better.  Yet,  oh,  Father  of  mercies  I  my  soul  is  tortured  with 
unutterable  agony !  Oh  !  on  the  verge  of  the  tomb,  my  heart 


144 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 


still  clings  to  earth  and  its  joys.  Look  down  in  thy  mercy 
upon  me,  and  help  me  to  fix  my  thoughts  on  heaven  and 
thee.  For  long  I  have  known  the  vanity  of  my  hope,  and 
the  deceitfulness  of  human  things ;  yet  I  could  not  tear 
away  the  pleasing  image,  and  turn  to  thee  alone  for  comfort. 
Oh,  may  peace  be  my  portion  the  few  days  I  have  to  live, 
and  when  death  comes,  be  thou  with  me,  my  God,  to  com¬ 
fort  and  take  me  soon  to  my  home  above.” 

She  sank  back  in  very  weariness.  “  Oh,  Frank,  how  could 
you  so  mistake  me  ? — you  whom  I  have  loved  so  long,  how 
could  you  believe  I  loved  another  ?  ” 

In  the  clear  sunny  light  of  morning,  how  cheerful  all 
things  looked  ;  and  to  a  heart  at  peace  with  God,  nature 
seemed  rejoicing.  The  deep  blue  vault  arching  inimitably 
above — the  musical  murmuring  of  the  creek,  as  it  rushed 
along  its  rocky  bed — the  mosquit,  bent  and  glittering  with 
its  frosty  mantle,  blended  with  the  blazing  camp-fire  and 
the  busy  hum  of  preparation  for  the  day,  stole  pleasingly 
into  the  heart.  All  the  party,  save  Mary,  stood  about  the 
fire,  warming  their  fingers  and  chatting  on  the  various 
occurrences  of  their  long  journey.  All  paused  to  welcome 
the  invalid,  as  she  joined  them  with  a  slow,  feeble  step;  yet 
she  looked  better  than  she  had  done  since  leaving  her  home. 
Restlessly  she  had  tossed  on  her  hard  couch,  and  now  the 
hectic  flush  mantled  the  thin  cheek  and  brightened  the  deep 
blue  eyes.  The  warm  congratulations  of  her  friends  on  her 
improved  appearance  brought  a  sad  smile  to  her  lip,  and  the 
expression  of  Dr.  Bryant’s  countenance  told  her  that  he  at 
least  realized  her  danger.  Never  had  Florence  looked  more 
beautiful,  as  the  clear  cold  air  brought  the  glow  to  her  cheek, 
added  to  the  effect  of  her  mourning  dress  and  the  expression 
of  quiet  happiness,  imparting  an  indescribable  charm  to  her 
lovely  features. 

“  As  you  now  stand,  Miss  Florence,  looking  so  earnestly 
toward  the  east,  you  seem  to  me  a  perfect  realization  of 
Willis’s  Jephtha’s  Daughter  : 

“  ‘  She  stood  before  her  father’s  gorgeous  tent, 

To  listen  for  his  coming.  Her  loose  hair 
Was  resting  on  her  shoulder,  like  a  cloud 
Floating  around  a  statue,  and  the  wind 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO.  145 

Just  swaying  her  light  robe,  revealed  a  shape 
Praxiteles  might  worship  : 

Her  countenance  was  radiant  with  love  : 

She  looked  to  die  for  it — a  being  whose 
Whole  existence  was  the  pouring  out 
Of  rich  and  deep  affections.’  ” 

As  he  looked  upon  her  these  lines  were  uttered  half  un* 
consciously ;  and  then  turning  to  Mary,  he  gently  asked  if 
he  might  speak  what  was  passing  in  his  mind. 

“  Certainly,  Frank — continue  your  quotation ;  the  lines 
never  seemed  so  beautiful  before  ;  ”  said  Mr.  Stewart,  glanc¬ 
ing  at  Florence  as  he  spoke. 

“  Doubtless  not,  Stewart,  because  never  so  applied.  Miss 
Hamilton,  your  cousin  looks  more  as  did  the  Jewish  maiden 
at  close  of  evening : 

“  ‘  Her  face  was  pale,  but  very  beautiful  ;  her  lip 
Had  a  more  delicate  outline,  and  the  tint 
Was  deeper.  But  her  countenance  was  like  the 
Majesty  of  Angels.’  ” 

“Di.  Bryant,  is  it  possible  you  so  far  forget  yourself  and 
previously  expressed  opinions,  as  to  make  quotations  ?  I 
thought  you  a  sworn  foe  to  the  practise.” 

“  On  ordinary  occasions,  I  am  :  and  you  may  rest  assured 
it  is  the  last  time  I  commit  such  an  absurdity  by  a  camp  fire. 
I  think  you  once  asked  me  my  objection — will  you  hear  it 
now  ?  When  I  was  quite  young,  I  one  day  read  an  anecdote 
of  the  celebrated  Greek  professor,  Dr.  Porson,  which  gave 
me  a  strong  bias  against  quotations,  particularly  locating 
them,  which  necessarily  follows.  Porson  was  once  traveling 
in  a  stage-coach,  when  a  young  Oxonian,  fresh  from  college, 
was  amusing  some  ladies  with  quite  a  variety  of  small  talk, 
among  other  things  a  quotation  from  Sophocles,  as  he  said. 
A  Greek  quotation  in  a  stage-coach  roused  Porson,  who  half 
slumbered  in  a  quiet  corner.  ‘  Young  gentleman,’  said  he, 
*  I  think  you  indulged  us,  just  now,  with  a  quotation  from 
Sophocles  ;  I  don’t  happen  to  remember  it  there.’—1 1  Oh,  sir,5 
rejoined  the  tyro,  ‘  the  quotation  is  word  for  word,  and  in 
Sophocles  too.’  The  professor  handed  him  a  small  edition 
of  Sophocles,  and  requested  him  to  point  out  the  passage* 
After  rummaging  about  for  some  time,  he  replied  :  ‘  Upon 
second  thought  the  passage  is  in  Euripides  5  ‘  Then,’  said 

10 


146  INEZ,  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 

Porson,  handing  him  a  similar  edition  of  Euripides,  c  per* 
haps  you  will  be  so  kind  as  to  find  it  for  me  in  this  little 
book.’  Our  young  gentleman  returned  unsuccessfully  to  the 
search,  with  the  very  pleasant  cogitation  of  ‘  Curse  me,  if 
ever  I  quote  Greek  again  in  a  stage-coach.  ’  The  tittering 
of  the  ladies  increased  his  confusion,  and  desperate  at  last* 
he  exclaimed — 1  Bless  me,  how  dull  I  am  ;  I  remember  now 
perfectly  that  the  passage  is  in  ^Eschylus.’  The  incorrigible 
professor  dived  again  into  his  apparently  bottomless  pocket* 
and  produced  an  edition  of  ./Eschylus  ;  but  the  astounded 
Oxonian  exclaimed,  ‘  Stop  the  coach  1  Halloa  !  coachman, 
let  me  out  instantly ;  there  is  a  fellow  inside  here  that  has 
got  the  whole  Bodleian  library  in  his  pocket.  Let  me  out, 
I  say — it  must  be  Porson  or  the  devil ! 9  Now  previous  to 
reading  this  anecdote,  I  must  confess  to  quite  a  pe?ichant 
for  quotations,  but  I  assure  you  a  full  year  elapsed  ere  I 
ventured  on  another  ;  and  for  a  long  time  the  ghost  of  our 
gentleman  appeared,  specter-like,  before  me,  whenever  I 
attempted  one.” 

When  the  merriment  subsided,  Mr.  Stewart  asked  if  it 
was  not  of  this  same  professor  that  a  phrenologist  remarked, 
on  examining  his  skull,  that  “  the  most  important  question 
was,  how  the  ideas  found  access  to  the  brain — once  inside, 
and  there  are  very  solid  reasons  to  prevent  their  getting  out 
again.” 

“  Yes,  the  same.  Craniologists  admit,  I  believe,  that  his 
was  the  thickest  skull  ever  examined  ;  and  it  is  related  that 
when  he  could  no  longer  articulate  English,  he  spoke  Greek 
with  fluency.” 

In  a  few  moments  the  camp  was  broken  up,  and  they 
proceeded  on  their  way.  Mary  cast  a  longing  glance  to¬ 
ward  her  horse,  now  mounted  by  one  of  the  servants,  and 
was  taking  her  seat  in  the  wagon,  when  Dr.  Bryant  said : 

“  Would  you  like  to  try  your  horse  a  little  while  this  mom* 
ing  ?  If  it  proves  too  fatiguing,  you  can  return  to  the 
wagon.” 

“  I  should  like  it  very  much,  if  I  felt  strong  enough,  but  I 
could  not  sit  upright  so  long.  Doctor,  will  you  be  so  kind 
as  to  ride  my  horse  for  me  to-day,  and  let  William  drive  ?  ” 

“  Certainly,  if  you  prefer  it ;  but  may  I  venture  to  ask 
your  reason  ?  ” 


!47 


£NEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 

«  You  have  long  been  separated  from  your  friend,  and 
naturally  wish  to  be  with  him.  Do  not,  on  my  account, 
remain  behind  the  party,  as  you  are  forced  to  do  in  driving 
the  wagon,  but  join  Florence  and  Mr.  Stewart,  who  seem  in 
such  fine  spirits  this  beautiful  morning.  I  feel  too  weary 
and  feeble  to  talk,  and  William  will  take  good  care  of 
me.” 

He  fixed  his  dark  eyes  mournfully  on  her  face :  she  could 
not  meet  his  gaze,  and  her  head  sunk  upon  her  bosom. 

“  Believe  me,  Miss  Irving,  every  other  pleasure  is  second 
to  that  of  watching  over  and  being  with  you.  If,  in  the 
proposed  change,  my  feelings  alone  are  to  be  consulted, 
allow  me  to  remain  with  you.” 

“  Thank  you,  Dr.  Bryant,  you  are  very  kind  to  remember 
me  so  constantly  ;  my  only  object  was  to  promote  your  en¬ 
joyment  of  the  day.” 

They  rode  for  some  distance  in  silence. 

“  This  is  my  birthday ;  and  how  little  1  fancied,  on  the 
last  anniversary,  that  I  should  be  so  situated,”  said  Dr. 
Bryant,  as  though  speaking  unconsciously. 

“  How  one’s  feelings  change  with  maturer  years.  I  re¬ 
member  well  that,  in  my  childhood,  the  lapse  of  time  seemed 
provokingly  slow,  and  I  wondered  why,  from  year  to  year, 
it  seemed  so  very  long.  The  last  three  years  of  my  life, 
though  somewhat  checkered,  have  flown  too  quickly  away. 
A  month  ago,  I  would  willingly  have  recalled  them,  but  they 
are  lost  in  the  ocean  of  eternity,  only  to  be  remembered  now 
as  a  changing,  feverish  dream,”  Mary  replied. 

“  Miss  Irving,  without  the  benign  and  elevating  influence 
of  Hope,  that  great  actuating  principle  from  the  opening  to 
the  close  of  life,  what  a  dreary  blank  our  existence  would 
prove.  In  childhood  it  gorge'ously  gilds  the  future ;  the 
tints  fade  as  maturity  gains  that  future,  and  then  it  gently 
brightens  the  evening  of  life,  while  memory  flings  her 
mantle  of  witchery  over  the  past,  recalling,  in  hours  of  sad¬ 
ness,  all  of  joy  to  cheer  the  heart,  and  banishing  forever  the 
phantoms  of  terror — the  seasons  of  gloom  that  once  haunted 
us.” 

“  Yes,  how  appropriately  has  the  great  bard  of  Time, 
termed  Hope  ‘  silver-tongued.’  And  then,  its  soothing  accents 
are  felt  and  acknowledged  in  the  darkest  hove*  r.f  human  triaL 


1 48  INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 

When  about  to  sever  every  earthly  tie — when  on  the  eve  of 
parting  with  every  object  rendered  dear  by  nature  and  as¬ 
sociation — when  the  gloomy  portals  of  the  silent  tomb  open 
to  receive  us,  then  comes  Hope  to  paint  the  joys  of  heaven. 
Our  reunion  with  those  we  have  loved  and  lost — perfect 
freedom  from  sin — the  society  of  angels,  and  the  spirits  ‘of 
the  just  made  perfect ;  the  presence  of  our  Saviour,  and  an 
everlasting  home  in  the  bosom  of  our  God.” 

A  look  of  unutterable  peace  and  joy  settled  on  the  face  of 
Mary  as  she  finished  speaking  and  sank  back,  her  hands 
clasped,  and  her  eyes  raised  as  though  in  communion  with 
the  spirits  above. 

Dr.  Bryant’s  eyes  rested  with  a  sort  of  fascination  on  heT 
countenance. 

“  You  have  this  hope;  yes,  already  your  soul  turns  from 
earth  and  its  vanities  to  the  pure,  unfailing  fount  of  heav¬ 
enly  joy.  Oh !  that  I,  like  you,  could  soon  find  peace  and 
perfect  happiness  ?  I  have  striven  against  the  bitter  feelings 
which  of  late  have  crept  into  my  heart ;  still,  despite  my 
efforts,  they  gather  rapidly  about  me.  I  look  forward,  and 
feel  sick  at  heart.  Turbid  are  all  the  streams  of  earthly 
pleasures,  and  fully  now  I  realize  those  lines,  which  once 
seemed  the  essence  of  misanthropy — 

*  I  thought  upon  this  hollow  world, 

And  all  its  hollow  crew/ 

For  a  time  I  found  delight  in  intellectual  pursuits,  but  soon 
wearied  of  what  failed  to  bring  real  comfort  in  hours  of 
trial.” 

“  You  need  some  employment  to  draw  forth  every  faculty: 
in  a  life  of  active  benevolence  and  usefulness,  this  will  be 
supplied.  Do  not  give  vent  to  feelings  of  satiety  or  ennui ; 
your  future  should  be  bright — no  dangers  threaten,  and 
many  and  important  duties  await  you  in  life.  God  has  so 
constituted  us,  that  happiness  alone  springs  from  the  faith¬ 
ful  discharge  of  these.  Every  earthly  resource  fails  to  bring 
contentment,  unless  accompanied  by  an  active,  trusting  faith 
in  God,  and  hope  of  blessedness  in  heaven.  Wealth,  beauty, 
genius  are  as  naught ;  and  fame,  that  hollow,  gilded  bauble, 
brings  not  the  promised  delight,  and  an  aching  void  remains 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO.  149 

in  the  embittered  heart.  One  of  our  most  talented  authors, 
now  seated  on  the  pinnacle  of  fame,  assures  us  that 

‘  The  Sea  of  Ambition  is  tempest  tost, 

And  your  hopes  may  vanish  like  foam.’ 


‘The  Sun  of  Fame  but  gilds  the  name, 

The  heart  ne’er  felt  its  ray.’ 

Pardon  me  if  I  have  ventured  too  far,  or  wounded  you* 
feelings  :  it  was  not  my  intention,  and  I  have  spoken  half 
unconsciously.  ” 

“  Thank  you,  Miss  Irving,  for  your  kind  words  of  com* 
fort  and  advice.  Fear  not  that  ambition  will  lure  me  :  I 
know  its  hollow,  bitter  wages,  and  cannot  be  deceived. 
Yet  there  is  a  lonely  feeling  in  my  heart  which  I  cannot 
dispel  at  will.  Still  my  plans  for  the  future  are  sufficiently 
active  to  interest  me  ;  and  I  doubt  not  that  a  year  hence  I 
shall  feel  quite  differently.  If  I  could  always  have  your 
counsel  and  sympathy,  I  should  fear  nothing.5’ 

“  In  seasons  of  trial — in  the  hours  of  gloom  and  despond¬ 
ency — appeal  to  your  sister  for  comfort.  Oh  !  she  is  far 
more  capable  of  advising  and  cheering  than  I,  who  only 
echo  her  sentiments.”  Mary  pressed  her  hand  to  her  side, 
and  leaning  back,  closed  her  eyes,  as  if  longing  for  rest. 

“  I  have  drawn  you  on  to  converse  more  than  was  proper 
— forgive  my  thoughtlessness  ;  and,  if  it  would  not  be  im¬ 
possible,  sleep,  and  be  at  rest.”  He  carefully  arranged  her 
shawls,  and  as  she  lay  a  long  while  with  closed  eyes,  he 
thought  her  sleeping,  but  turning,  after  a  time,  was  sur¬ 
prised  to  perceive  her  gazing  earnestly  out  on  the  beautiful 
country  through  which  they  now  rode. 


£NEZ :  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

s<  Alas  !  how  light  a  cause  may  move 
Dissensions  between  hearts  that  love  ! 

Hearts  that  the  world  in  vain  had  tried, 

And  sorrow  but  more  closely  tied  ; 

That  stood  the  storm  when  waves  were  rough, 

Yet  in  the  sunny  hour,  fall  off, 

Like  ships  that  have  gone  down  at  sea, 

When  heaven  was  all  tranquillity !  ” 

Moore. 

“  Peace  and  quiet  and  rest  for  you  at  last !  ”  cried  Dr.  Bry- 
ant,  as  they  drove  into  the  village  of  Washington,  and,  by 
dint  of  much  trouble  and  exertion,  procured  a  small  and 
comfortless  house.  But  a  bright  fire  soon  blazed  in  the 
broad,  deep,  old-fashioned  chimney — the  windows  and  doors 
closed — their  small  stock  of  furniture  and  provisions  un¬ 
packed,  and  a  couch  prepared  for  Mary,  now  far  too  feeble 
to  sit  up.  The  members  of  the  safe  and  happy  party  gath¬ 
ered  about  the  hearth,  and  discussed  hopefully  their  future 
prospects.  Dr.  Bryant  raised  his  eyes  to  the  somewhat  in¬ 
secure  roof,  through  which  the  light  of  day  occasionally 
stole  in,  and  exclaimed : 

*  And  doth  a  roof  above  me  close  ?  *  ” 

“  Not  such  a  one  as  greeted  Mazeppa  on  regaining  his 
senses,  Frank;  rather  insecure,  *tis  true,  yet  somewhat  bet* 
ter  than  the  canvas  covering  for  which  we  have  been  so 
grateful  of  late.” 

Dr.  Bryant  leaned  his  elbow  on  the  mantel-piece,  and  fell 
into  a  fit  of  musing,  not  unusual  to  him  since  leaving  San 
Antonio.  The  servant  disturbed  his  reverie  by  requesting 
room  for  her  cooking  utensils.  He  raised  his  head  as  she 
spoke,  and  then,  as  if  utterly  unconscious,  dropped  it  again, 
without  reply. 

“  A  cigar  for  your  thoughts,  Bryant !  ”  said  Mr.  Stewart, 
and  linking  his  arm  in  that  of  his  friend  they  turned  away- 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO.  151 

Florence  approached  her  cousin,  and  bending  over  the 
wasted  form,  asked  if  she  were  not  already  better. 

Mary  lifted  her  arms  to  her  cousin’s  neck,  and  for  a  mo¬ 
ment  strove  to  press  her  to  her  heart,  but  strength  had  failed 
rapidly  of  late,  and  they  sank  wearily  by  her  side.  Florence 
sat  down  and  took  both  hands  between  hers. 

“  Tell  me,  dear,  if  you  are  in  pain  ?  ” 

“  No,  Florry,  I  do  not  suffer  much  now;  I  am  at  present 
free  from  ail  pain.  I  have  not  had  an  opportunity  of  talk¬ 
ing  with  you  for  some  time.  Florry,  tell  me,  are  you  very 
happy ?  ” 

“  Yes,  Mary,  I  am  very  happy — happier  than  I  ever  was 
before  ;  and  far  more  so  than  I  deserve.  Oh  1  Mary,  how 
miserable  I  have  been  ;  and  it  is  by  contrast  that  the  tran¬ 
sition  is  so  delightful.  I  doubted  the  goodness  and  mercy 
of  God  ;  and,  in  the  bitterness  of  my  heart,  I  asked  why  I 
had  been  created  for  so  much  suffering.  Oh,  Mary  !  my 
pure-hearted,  angel  cousin,  how  much  of  my  present  happi¬ 
ness  I  owe  to  you.  Suppose  you  had  suffered  me  to  wan¬ 
der  on  in  the  maze  of  darkness.  At  this  moment  I  should  . 
have  been  a  desolate,  deluded,  miserable  nun  ;  clinging  to 
a  religion  which,  instead  of  Bible  truths,  filled  the  anxious, 
aching  heart  with  monkish  legends  of  unattested  miracles, 
and  in  place  of  the  pure  worship  of  God,  gives  us  mum¬ 
meries  nearer  akin  to  pagan  rites  !  I  thank  God  that  I  am 
released  from  my  thraldom.  I  see  now  the  tissue  of  false¬ 
hood  so  plausible  in  which  all  things  were  wrapped.  Black¬ 
ness  and  deceit  in  the  garb  of  truth  and  purity  !  And  it  is 
horrible,  to  think  that  he  who  so  led  me  astray  claims  to  be 
my  brother  1  Mary,  Mary,  how  can  I  tell  Mr.  Stewart  this  ? 
—tell  him  that  I  have  wandered  from  the  true  faith — that  I 
have  knelt  in  confession  to  him  who  cursed  our  common 
father  1  He  will  despise  me  for  my  weakness :  for  only 
yesterday  he  said  he  first  loved  me  for  my  clear  insight  into 
right  and  wrong,  and  my  scorn  of  deceit  and  hypocrisy  ! 
Yet  I  deceived  you ;  at  least,  tacitly — you  who  have  ever 
loved  me  so  truly,  you  who  have  saved  me  at  last,  and 
pointed  out  the  road  to  heaven.  Mary,  forgive  me !  I 
never  asked  pardon  of  any  on  earth  before,  but  I  wronged 
you,  good  and  gentle  though  you  always  were.  Forgive 
me,  oh,  my  cousin ! 99 


*52 


rNEZ ;  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 


Mary  clasped  Florence’s  hands  in  hers,  and  though  too 
feeble  to  speak  very  audibly,  replied  : 

“  Florry,  think  not  of  the  past ;  it  has  been  very  painful 
to  us  both,  yet  I  thank  God  that  you  are  right  at  last.  You 
know  how  I  love  you :  I  would  give  every  treasure  of  earth 
to  contribute  to  your  happiness ;  and  now  that  you  are  so 
blest,  listen  to  my  counsel.  Florry,  there  is  a  cloud  no  big¬ 
ger  than  a  man’s  hand  resting  low  on  the  horizon  of  your 
happiness — be  warned  in  time.  You  know  Mr.  Stewart’s 
firm,  unwavering  principals  of  Protestantiam  ;  you  know,  too 
the  aversiom  with  which  he  regards  the  priests  of  Rome ;  it 
may  be  a  hard  task  now,  but  it  will  be  tenfold  more  difficult 
a  year  hence.  Go  to  him  at  once,  tell  him  you  were  mis¬ 
guided  and  deceived,  and  reveal  every  circumstance  con¬ 
nected  with  that  unhappy  period.  He  will  love  you  more 
for  your  candor.  Florry,  you  turn  pale,  as  though  unequal 
to  the  task.  Oh,  my  cousin,  you  prize  his  love  more  than 
truth ;  but  the  time  will  come  when  he  will  prize  truth  more 
than  your  love  !  Florry,  let  me  beg  you  tell  him  all,  and  at 
once.”  She  sank  back,  as  if  exhausted  by  her  effort  in 
speaking  so  long,  yet  firmly  retained  Florence’s  hand. 

“  Mary,  if  I  do  this,  it  is  at  the  risk  of  losing  his  esteem, 
which  I  prize  even  more  than  his  love.  And  after  all,  1 
cannot  see  that  truth  or  duty  requires  this  humiliating  con¬ 
fession.  Should  he  ever  question  me,  I  should  scorn  to  de¬ 
ceive  him,  and  at  once  should  tell  him  all.  But  he  does  not 
suspect  it,  and  /,  being  no  longer  in  danger  or  blinded,  need 
not  reveal  the  past.” 

Mournfully  Mary  regarded  her  beautiful  cousin. 

“  Florry,  if  you  conceal  nothing  now,  he  will  esteem  you 
more  than  ever  for  hazarding  his  love  in  the  cause  of  truth. 
If,  in  after  years,  he  discovers  the  past,  he  will  tell  you  that, 
silently  at  least,  you  deceived  him,  and  reproach  you  with 
want  of  candor  and  firmness.  Oh!  there  is  a  fearful  risk 
to  run  ;  he  will  never  place  confidence  in  you  again — be 
warned  in  time.” 

The  entrance  of  Aunt  Lizzy  and  Mrs.  Carlton  prevented 
further  conversation,  and  unclasping  Mary’s  fingers,  Flor¬ 
ence  disengaged  her  hand  and  left  the  room. 

Two  days  passed  in  furnishing  and  arranging  their  new 
home,  and  Mary  saw  but  little  of  her  cousin.  As  evening 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO.  153 

closed  in  again,  the  invalid  watched  from  her  couch  the 
countenance  of  Mr.  Stewart,  as  he  sat  earnestly  conversing 
with  her  aunt.  Florence  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Carlton  were 
out  making  some  necessary  purchases,  and  Dr.  Bryant  had 
been  absent  on  business  of  his  own  since  morning. 

“  Florence  is  too  young  to  marry,  or  even  dream  of  it,  at 
present,  Mr.  Stewart ;  and  besides,  if  I  must  be  candid,  I 
have  always  entertained  different  views  for  her.” 

“  Pardon  me,  but  I  believe  I  scarcely  comprehend  your 
meaning.  You  speak  of  other  views  for  her  ;  may  I  venture 
to  ask  the  nature  of  these  ?  ” 

“  I  have  never  expected  her  to  marry  at  all,  Mr. 
Stewart.” 

“  And  why  not,  pray  ?  What  can  you  urge  in  favor  of 
your  wishes  ?  ” 

“  I  had  her  own  words  to  that  effect,  scarce  a  month  ago.” 

A  proud,  happy  smile  played  round  his  lips,  and  he  re* 
plied :  “  She  may  have  thought  so  then,  but  I  think  her 
views  have  changed.” 

“  But  for  Mary,  she  would  have  been  the  same  ;  ”  and  a 
bitter  look  passed  over  her  wrinkled  face. 

“  Excuse  me,  if  I  ask  an  explanation  of  your  enigmatical 
language ;  there  is  some  hidden  meaning,  I  well  know.” 

“  Mr.  Stewart,  your  mother  and  I  are  old  friends,  and  I 
wish  you  well ;  but  all  good  Catholics  love  their  church 
above  every  earthly  thing.  I  should  like  to  see  Florence 
happy,  but  her  eternal  good  should  first  be  secured  ;  you 
are  a  Protestant,  and  bitterly  opposed  to  our  Holy  Church, 
and  I  cannot  consent  to  see  her  marry  a  heretic,  for  such 
you  are :  she  is  too  far  astray  already.” 

“  If  your  niece  were  herself  a  Papist,  your  reason  would 
indeed  be  a  cogent  one  ;  but,  under  existing  circumstances, 
I  am  puzzled  to  understand  you.” 

“  Were  it  not  for  Mary’s  influence,  Florence  would  even 
now  rest  in  the  bosom  of  our  Holy  Church.  She  has  done 
her  cousin  a  grievous  wrong ;  may  God  and  the  blessed 
Virgin  forgive  her  !  ” 

Mary  groaned  in  spirit,  as  she  marked  the  stern  glance  of 
his  eagle  eye,  and  feebly  raising  herself,  she  said :  “  Mr. 
Stewart,  will  you  take  this  seat  beside  the  sofa  ?  I  wish  to 
speak  with  you.” 


*54 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


Aunt  Lizzy  left  the  room  hurriedly,  as  though  she  had 
already  said  too  much,  and  silently  he  complied  with  Mary’s 
request. 

“  You  are  pained  and  perplexed  at  what  my  aunt  has  just 
said  ;  allow  me  to  explain  what  may  seem  a  great  mystery. 
You  are  not  aware  that  my  uncle  died  a  Papist.  Weakened 
in  body  and  mind  by  disease,  he  was  sought  and  influenced 
in  secret,  when  I  little  dreamed  of  such  a  change.  On  his 
death-bed  he  embraced  the  Romish  faith,  and,  as  I  have 
-since  learned,  exacted  from  Florry  a  promise  to  abide  by  the 
advice  of  his  priest,  in  spiritual  as  well  as  temporal  matters. 
He  expired  in  the  act  of  taking  the  sacrament,  and  our  deso¬ 
lation  of  heart  can  be  better  imagined  than  described — left 
so  utterly  alone  and  unprotected,  far  from  our  relatives  and 
the  friends  of  our  youth.  I  now  marked  a  change  in  Florry, 
though  at  a  loss  to  account  for  it.  An  influence,  secret  as 
that  exerted  on  her  lost  parent,  was  likewise  successful  and, 
to  my  grief  and  astonishment,  I  found  that  she  too  had  em¬ 
braced  papacy.” 

The  door  opened  and  Florence  entered.  She  started  on 
seeing  her  lover,  but  advanced  to  them  much  as  usual.  He 
raised  his  head,  and  cold  and  stern  was  the  glance  he  bent 
on  her  beautiful  face.  She  stood  beside  him,  and  rising,  he 
placed  a  chair  for  her  in  perfect  silence.  Mary’s  heart 
ached,  as  she  noted  the  marble  paleness  which  overspread 
her  cousin’s  cheek.  Mr.  Stewart  folded  his  arms  across  his 
chest,  and  said  in  a  low,  stern,  yet  mournful  tone : 

“  Florence,  I  could  not  have  believed  that  you  would  have 
deceived  me,  as  you  have  silently  done.” 

Mournfully  Florence  looked  for  a  moment  on  Mary’s  face, 
yet  there  was  no  reproach  in  her  glance ;  it  seemed  but  to 
say — “  You  have  wakened  me  from  my  dream  of  happiness.” 

She  lifted  proudly  her  head,  and  fixed  her  dark  eye  full  on 
her  lover. 

“  Explain  yourself,  Mr.  Stewart ;  I  have  a  right  to  know 
with  what  I  am  charged,  though  I  almost  scorn  to  refute 
that  of  deceit.” 

“  Not  a  week  since,  Florence,  you  heard  me  avow  my  dis¬ 
like  of  the  tenets  and  practises  of  the  Romish  Church.  I 
said  then,  as  now,  that  no  strong-minded,  intelligent  woman 
of  the  present  age  could  consult  the  page  of  history  and 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 


I55 


then  say  that  she  conscientiously  believed  its  doctrines  to  be 
pure  and  scriptural,  or  its  practises  in  accordance  with  the 
teachings  of  our  Saviour.  You  tacitly  concurred  in  my 
opinions.  Florence,  did  you  tell  me  you  had  once  held  those 
doctrines  in  reverence  ?  Nay,  that  even  now  you  lean  to 
papacy  ?  ”  Stern  was  his  tone,  and  cold  and  slightly  con¬ 
temptuous  his  glance. 

“  A  bitter,  scornful  smile  wreathed  the  lips  of  his  betrothed. 
“  I  acknowledge  neither  the  authority  of  questioning,  nor 
allow  the  privilege  of  any  on  earth  to  impugn  my  motives  or 
my  actions.  Had  I  felt  it  incumbent  on  me  to  acquaint 
you  with  every  circumstance  of  my  past  life,  I  should  un¬ 
doubtedly  have  done  so,  when  you  offered  me  your  hand. 
I  felt  no  obligation  to  that  effect,  and  consequently  consulted 
my  own  inclinations.  If,  for  &  moment,  you  had  doubted 
me,  or  asked  an  explanation  of  the  past,  I  should  have 
scorned  to  dissemble  with  you  ;  and  now  that  the  subject  is 
broached  you  shall  have  the  particulars,  which,  I  assure  you, 
have  kept  well,  though,  as  you  suppose,  sometime  withheld. 
I  have  been  a  member  of  the  Church  of  Rome:.I  have 
prayed  to  saints  and  the  Virgin,  counted  beads  and  used 
holy  water,  and  have  knelt  in  confession  to  a  priest  of  papal 
Rome.  I  did  all  this,  thinking,  for  a  time,  my  salvation 
dependent  on  it.  You  know  all  now.” 

Mr.  Stewart  regarded  her  sadly  as  she  uttered  these  words, 
and  his  stern  tone  softened  as  he  noticed  her  bloodless  cheek 
and  quivering  lip. 

“  Florence,  it  is  not  your  former  belief  or  practise  that 
gives  me  this  pain,  and  saddens  our  future.  If  you  were  at 
this  moment  a  professor  of  the  Romish  faith,  I  would  still 
cherish  and  trust  you :  I  should  strive  to  convince  you  of 
your  error — to  point  out  the  fallacy  of  your  hopes.  When 
I  recall  the  circumstances  by  which  you  were  surrounded, 
and  the  influences  exerted,  I  scarcely  wonder  that,  for  a  time, 
you  lent  your  credence  and  support.  But,  Florence,  full  well 
you  know  that  this  is  not  what  pains  me.  It  is  the  conscious¬ 
ness  that  you  have  kept  me  in  ignorance  of  what  your  own 
heart  told  you  would  show  your  momentary  weakness,  and 
led  me  to  suppose  you  entertained  a  belief  at  variance  with 
your  practise.  You  have  feared  my  displeasure  more  than 
the  disregard  of  truth  and  candor.  Florences  Florence! 


156  INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 

knowing  how  well  I  loved  you,  and  what  implicit  confidence 
I  reposed  in  you,  how  could  you  do  this  ?  ” 

“  Again,  Mr.  Stewart,  I  repeat  that  I  perceive  no  culpability 
in  my  conduct.  Had  I  felt  it  my  duty,  your  love  or  indif¬ 
ference  would  not  have  weighed  an  atom  in  my  decision  to 
act  according  to  my  sense  of  right  and  wrong/’ 

He  turned  from  her,  and  paced  to  and  fro  before  the  fire, 
Florence  would  have  left  the  room,  but  Mary  clasped  her 
dress,  and  detained  her. 

“  Mr.  Stewart,  you  have  been  too  harsh  and  hasty  in  your 
decision,  and  too  severe  in  your  remarks.  Florry  has  not 
forfeited  your  love,  though  she  acted  imprudently.  Ask 
your  own  heart  whether  you  would  be  willing  to  expose  to 
her  eye  your  every  foible  and  weakness.  For  you,  like  all 
God’s  creatures,  have  faults  of  your  own.  Is  there  nothing 
you  have  left  untold  relative  to  your  past  ?  Oh  I  if  you 
knew  how  deep  and  unutterable  has  been  her  love,  even  when 
she  never  again  expected  to  meet  you,  you  would  forget  this 
momentary  weakness — a  fault  committed  from  the  very  in¬ 
tensity  of  her  love,  and  fear  lest  she  should  sink  in  your 
estimation/’ 

“  Mary,  if  she  had  said,  Dudley,  I  have  not  always  felt 
as  now,  and  my  mind  was  darkened  for  a  time,  I  should 
have  loved  her,  if  possible,  more  than  before,  for  her  noble 
candor.  My  own  heart  would  have  told  me,  This  is  one  in 
whom  you  may  eternally  trust,  for  she  risked  the  forfeiture 
of  your  love  in  order  that  truth  might  be  unsullied.  How 
can  I  confide  in  one  who  values  the  esteem  of  man  more 
than  the  approval  of  her  own  conscience  ?  You  have  said 
her  love  was  a  palliation.  No,  you  are  wrong;  it  is  an 
aggravation  of  her  fault.  She  should  have  loved  me  too 
well  to  suffer  me  to  discover  by  chance  what  should  have 
been  disclosed  in  confidence.  Mary,  her  love  is  not  greater 
than  mine.  None  know  how  I  have  cherished  her  memory — - 
how  I  have  kept  her  loved  image  in  my  heart  during  our 
long  separation.  I  would  give  every  earthly  joy  or  posses¬ 
sion  to  retain  her  affection,  for  it  is  dearer  to  me  than  every¬ 
thing  beside,  save  truth,  candor,  and  honesty.  I  have  noth¬ 
ing  to  conceal  from  her ;  I  would  willingly  bare  my  secret 
soul  to  her  scrutiny.  There  is  nothing  I  should  wish  to 
keep  back,  unless  it  be  the  pain  of  this  hour/’ 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO.  157 

He  paused  by  her  side,  and  looked  tenderly  on  the  pale, 
yet  lovely  face  of  Florence. 

“  Mr.  Stewart,  shall  one  fault  forever  destroy  your  con¬ 
fidence  in  Florry,  when  she  has  declared  that  had  she  thought 
it  incumbent  on  her  to  speak  of  these  things — if  she  had 
felt  as  you  do,  she  asserts  that  nothing  could  have  prevented 
her  revealing  every  circumstance.” 

“  Mary,  I  fear  her  code  of  morality  is  somewhat  too  lax ; 
and  the  fact  that  she  acknowledges  no  fault  is  far  more 
painful  than  any  other  circumstance.” 

“  Mary,  I  have  omitted  one  thing  which  I  wish  him  to 
know.  I  neglected  to  inform  you,  that  the  priest  to  whom 
I  confessed  is  my  half-brother  !  I  have  now  told  you  all ; 
and  thinking  as  you  do,  it  is  better  that  in  future  we  forget 
the  past  and  be  as  strangers  to  each  other.  That  I  have 
loved  you  fervently,  I  can  never  forget — neither  your  as¬ 
sertion  that  I  am  unworthy  of  your  confidence.” 

She  disengaged  her  dress  from  Mary’s  clasp,  and  turned 
toward  the  door.  Mr.  Stewart  caught  her  hand,  and  firmly 
held  it.  She  struggled  not  to  release  herself,  but  lifted  her 
dark  eyes  to  his,  and  calmly  met  his  earnest  glance. 

“  Florence  !  ” 

There  was  a  mournful  tenderness  in  the  deep  tone.  Her 
lip  quivered,  still  her  eyes  fell  not  beneath  his,  piercing  as 
an  eagle’s. 

“  Mr  Stewart,  you  have  wronged  her ;  you  have  been  too 
severe.”  And  Mary  clasped  his  hand  tightly,  and  looked 
up  appealingly.  He  withdrew  his  hand. 

“  Florence,  this  is  a  bitter,  bitter  hour  to  me.  Yet  I  may 
have  judged  too  harshly :  we  will  forget  the  past,  and,  in 
future,  let  no  such  cloud  come  between  us.” 

“  Not  so,  Mr.  Stewart :  if  I  am  unworthy,  how  can  you 
expect  confidence  from  me  ?  Think  you  I  will  change  the 
code  which  you  just  now  pronounced  too  lax  ?  Oh  1  you 
know  not  what  you  have  done.  It  is  no  light  thing  to  tell 
a  woman  of  my  nature  she  is  unworthy  of  the  love  she  prized 
above  every  earthly  thing.!  ”  Her  voice,  despite  her  efforts, 
faltered. 

“  Florence,  I  have  been  too  severe  in  my  language,  and 
you  too  proud  and  haughty.  Full  well  we  know  that  with¬ 
out  the  love  of  each  other  life  would  be  joyless  to  both* 


INEZ:  A  TaLE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 


*5^ 

Ours  is  not  a  common  love ;  and  again  I  say,  let  us  forget 
the  past,  while,  in  future,  need  I  ask  you  to  keep  nothing 
from  me  ?  ” 

He  drew  her  to  him  as  he  spoke,  and  passing  his  arm 
round  her,  pressed  her  to  his  heart.  A  long  time  Florence 
hid  her  head  on  his  shoulder,  as  if  struggling  with  her 
emotion,  and  then  a  heavy  sob  relieved  her  troubled  heart. 
Closer  he  clasped  her  to  him,  and,  laying  his  cheek  on  hers, 
murmured  : 

“  My  own  darling  Florence,  forgive  me,  if  I  misjudged 
you  ;  tell  me  that  you  will  not  remember  my  words — that 
this  hour  shall  be  to  us  a  painful  dream.” 

She  withdrew  from  his  embrace,  and,  lifting  her  head, 
replied  : 

“  I  was  wrong  to  doubt  your  love,  or  believe  that  you 
would  think  long  of  my  weakness ;  but  I  am  innocent  of  the 
charge  of  dissimulation,  and  never  let  us  recur  to  the  past.” 

She  held  out  her  hand,  and  clasping  it  in  his,  Mr.  Stewart 
led  her  away. 

An  hour  later  Mary  lay  with  closed  eyes,  too  weary,  from 
overexcitement,  even  to  look  about  her.  All  had  left  the 
room,  and  a  dim  light  from  the  hearth  just  faintly  lighted 
the  large,  comfortless  apartment.  With  noiseless  step  Dr. 
Bryant  entered,  and  seating  himself  in  the  vacant  chair, 
near  Mary’s  sofa,  bent  forward  that  he  might  look  on  the 
wan  face  of  the  sufferer.  His  heart  ached  as  he  noted  the 
painful  alteration  of  the  last  week,  and  gently  and  softly  he 
took  one  of  the  thin  white  hands  between  his  own.  It  was 
cold  and  damp,  and,  while  he  pressed  it,  the  dark  blue  eyes 
rested  earnestly  on  his  face. 

“  I  hoped  you  were  sleeping,  did  I  wake  you  ?  ”  and  he 
laid  the  hand  back,  as  she  strove  to  withdraw  it. 

“  No,  I  have  not  slept  since  morning.” 

“  Oh  !  I  am  troubled  at  your  constant  suffering  ;  is  there 
anything  I  can  do  for  you  ?  ” 

“  No,  thank  you,  Doctor,  I  wish  nothing.” 

“  All  my  arrangements  are  completed,  and  to-morrow  I 
return  to  your  home.  Can  I  deliver  any  message,  or  exe¬ 
cute  any  commission  ?  ” 

For  a  moment  Mary  closed  her  eyes,  then  replied  in  a  low 
voice : 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO .  159 

“  If  you  should  see  Inez,  tell  her  to  remember  my  gift  at 
parting,  and  thank  her,  in  my  name,  for  her  many,  many 
kindnesses.”  She  paused,  as  if  gathering  courage  to  say 
something  more. 

“  And  tell  her,  too,  that  ere  many  hours  I  shall  be  at  rest. 
Tell  her  I  have  no  fear,  nay  more,  that  I  have  great  hope, 
and  that  heaven  is  opening  for  me.  Let  her  prepare  to  join 
me,  where  there  is  no  sorrow  nor  parting.  ” 

There  was  a  silence,  as  if  each  were  communing  with 
their  own  hearts. 

“  You  go  to-morrow,  Dr.  Bryant  ?  Then  you  will  not 
stay  to  see  me  die  ?  I  am  failing  fast,  and  when  you  re¬ 
turn,  I  shall  have  gone  to  that  bourne  whence  no  traveler 
comes  back  to  tell  the  tale.  Let  me  thank  you  now,  for  your 
unvarying  kindness ;  many  have  been  your  services,  and  a 
brother’s  care  has  ever  followed  me.  Thank  you ;  I  appre¬ 
ciate  your  kindness,  and  earnest  and  heartfelt  is  my  prayer 
that  you  may  be  very  happy  and  blest  on  earth  ;  and  when 
you,  too,  come  to  die,  may  your  end  be  like  mine — free 
from  all  fear,  and  may  hope  and  joy  attend  your  last 
moments !  ” 

Her  breathing  grew  short,  and  large  drops  stood  on  her 
pure  beautiful  brow. 

He  had  bent  his  head  upon  his  bosom  while  she  spoke, 
but  now  he  raised  it,  and,  taking  her  hand,  clasped  it 
warmly. 

“  Mary,  Mary,  if  you  knew  what  torture  you  inflicted,  you 
Would  spare  me  this  !  ” 

It  was  the  first  time  he  had  called  her  Mary,  and  her 
pale  lip  quivered. 

“  Forgive  me,  if  I  cause  you  pain !  ” 

Bending  forward,  he  continued,  in  a  tone  of  touching  sad¬ 
ness — “  I  had  determined,  Mary,  to  keep  my  grief  locked 
in  my  own  heart,  and  never  to  let  words  of  love  pass  my 
lips.  But  the  thought  of  parting  with  you  forever  is  more 
than  I  can  bear.  Oh  !  Mary,  have  you  not  seen  for  weeks 
and  months  how  I  have  loved  you  ?  Long  ago,  when  first 
we  met,  a  deep,  unutterable  love  stole  into  my  heart.  I 
fancied  for  a  time  that  you  returned  it,  till  the  evening  we 
met  at  my  sister’s,  and  you  spoke  with  such  indifference  of 
leaving  me  behind.  I  saw  then  I  had  flattered  myself 


i6o 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


falsely ;  that  you  entertained  none  save  friendly  feelings  to¬ 
ward  me.  Still,  I  thought  in  time  you  might  learn  to  re¬ 
gard  me  with  warmer  sentiments.  So  I  hoped  on  till  the 
evening  of  our  last  ride,  when  your  agitation  led  me  to  sup¬ 
pose  you  loved  another.  I  saw  you  meet  Mr.  Stewart,  and 
was  confirmed  in  my  supposition.  I  gave  up  all  hope  of 
ever  winning  your  affection  in  return.  Now  I  see  my  error 
in  believing  for  a  moment  that  you  felt  otherwise  to  him 
than  as  a  brother,  as  the  betrothed  of  your  cousin.  I  know 
that  you  have  never  loved  him,  and  pardon  my  error. 
When  I  sought  you  just  now,  it  was  to  say  good-by,  and  in 
absence  and  varied  and  exciting  pursuits  to  shut  out  from 
my  heart  the  memory  of  my  hopes  and  fears.  Mary,  your 
words  fill  me  with  inexpressible  anguish  !  Oh,  you  cannot 
know  how  blank  and  dreary  earth  will  seem  when  you  are 
gone !  I  shall  have  no  hope,  no  incitement,  no  joy  !  ” 

As  she  listened  to  this  confession,  which  a  month  before 
would  have  brought  the  glow  to  her  cheek  and  sparkle  to 
her  eye,  she  felt  that  it  came  too  late ;  still  a  perfect  joy 
stole  into  her  heart.  She  turned  her  face  toward  him,  and 
gently  said : 

“  I  am  dying ;  and,  feeling  as  I  do,  that  few  hours  are 
allotted  me,  I  shall  not  hesitate  to  speak  freely  and  candidly. 
Some  might  think  me  deviating  from  the  delicacy  of  my 
sex ;  but,  under  the  circumstances,  I  feel  that  I  am  not. 
I  have  loved  you  long,  and  to  know  that  my  love  is  returned, 
is  a  source  of  deep  and  unutterable  joy  to  me.  You  were 
indeed  wrong  to  suppose  I  ever  regarded  Mr.  Stewart  other¬ 
wise  than  as  Florry’s  future  husband.  I  have  never  loved 
but  one.” 

“  Mary,  can  it  be  possible  that  you  have  loved  me,  when 
I  fancied,  of  late,  that  indifference,  and  even  dislike,  nes¬ 
tled  in  your  heart  ?  We  shall  yet  be  happy  !  I  thank  God 
that  we  shall  be  so  blest !  ”  And  he  pressed  the  thin  hand 
to  his  lips. 

“  Do  not  deceive  yourself.  Your  confession  has  come  too 
late.  I  can  never  be  yours,  for  the  hand  of  death  is  already 
laid  upon  me,  and  my  spirit  will  wing  its  way,  ere  long, 
home  to  God.  Now  that  we  understand  each  other,  and 
while  I  yet  live,  let  us  be  as  calm,  as  happy  as  the  circum¬ 
stances  allow.  It  may  seem  hard  that  I  should  be  taken 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 


161 

when  the  future  appears  so  bright,  but  I  do  not  repine, 
neither  must  you.  God,  ever  good  and  merciful,  sees  that 
it  is  best  I  should  go,  and  we  will  not  embitter  the  few  hours 
left  us  by  vain  regrets.”  Too  feeble  to  speak  more,  she 
closed  her  eyes,  while  her  breathing  grew  painfully  short. 

Dr  Bryant  bent  forward,  and  gently  lifting  her  head,  sup¬ 
ported  her  with  his  strong  arm,  and  stroked  off  from  her 
beautiful  brow  the  clustering  hair.  A  long  time  she  lay 
motionless,  with  closed  eyes,  and  bending  his  head,  he 
pressed  a  long  kiss  on  the  delicately-chiseled  lips. 

“  O  God  !  spare  me  my  gentle  angel  Mary,”  he  murmured, 
as  looking  on  the  wan,  yet  lovely  face,  he  felt  that  to  yield 
her  up  was  more  than  he  could  bear. 

At  this  moment  Mrs.  Carlton  entered  :  he  held  out  his 
hand,  and  drawing  her  to  his  side,  said,  in  a  deep,  tender  tone  : 

“  She  is  mine  now,  sister  ;  thank  God,  that  at  last  I  have 
won  her,  and  pray  with  me  that  she  may  be  spared  to  us 
both.” 

Fervently  she  pressed  his  hand,  and  a  tear  rolled  down  and 
dropped  upon  it,  as  she  bent  down  to  kiss  the  sufferer. 
Gently  he  put  her  back. 

“  She  is  wearied,  and  just  fallen  asleep  ;  do  not  wake 
her.” 

He  carefully  depressed  his  arm  that  she  might  rest  more 
easily.  Mrs.  Carlton  seated  herself  beside  her  brother,  and 
whispered : 

“  You  will  not  go  to-morrow,  Frank  ?  ” 

“  No,  no ;  I  will  not  leave  her  a  moment.  Ellen,  does 
she  seem  very  much  thinner  since  leaving  home  ?  I  know 
she  is  very  pale.” 

“  Yes,  Frank;  she  is  fearfully  changed  within  the  last 
week.” 

“  Oh,  Ellen  !  if  she  should  be  taken  from  me ;”  and 
closer  he  drew  his  arm,  as  though  fearing  some  unseen 
danger. 

“  We  must  look  to  Heaven  for  her  restoration,  and  God 

is  good,”  answered  his  sister,  turning  away  to  conceal  her 
tears. 


162 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 


Ah  !  whence  yon  glare 

That  fires  the  arch  of  heaven  ? — that  dark  red  smoke 

Blotting  the  silver  moon  ? . 

Hark  to  that  roar  whose  swift  and  deafening  peals, 

In  countless  echoes,  through  the  mountains  ring, 
Startling  pale  midnight  on  her  starry  throne  ! 


Loud  and  more  loud,  the  discord  grows, 

Till  pale  Death  shuts  the  scene, 

And  o’er  the  conqueror  and  the  conquered  draws 
His  cold  and  bloody  shroud.” 

Shelley. 

The  6th  of  March  rose  dark  and  lowering,  and  all  nature 
Wore  an  aspect  meet  for  the  horrors  which  that  day  chron¬ 
icled  in  the  page  of  history.  Toward  noon  the  dense  leaden 
cloud  floated  off,  as  though  the  uncertainty  which  veiled  the 
future  had  suddenly  been  lifted — the  crisis  had  come.  Santa 
Anna  and  his  bloodthirsty  horde,  rendered  more  savage  by 
the  recollection  of  the  nth  December,  poured  out  the  vial 
of  their  wrath  on  the  doomed  town.  Oh !  San  Antonio, 
thou  art  too  beautiful  for  strife  and  discord  to  mar  thy  quiet 
loveliness.  Yet  the  fiery  breath  of  desolating  war  swept 
rudely  o’er  thee,  and,  alas  !  thou  wast  sorely  scathed. 

A  second  time  the  ill-fated  fortress  was  fiercely  charged. 
Long  it  withstood  the  terrible  shock,  and  the  overwhelming 
thousands  that  so  madly  pressed  its  gray,  moldering  walls. 
The  sun  went  down  as  it  were  in  a  sea  of  blood,  its  lurid 
light,  gleaming  ominously  on  the  pale,  damp  brows  of  the 
doomed  garrison.  Black  clouds  rolled  up  and  veiled  the 
heavens  in  gloom.  Night  closed  prematurely  in  with  fitful 
gusts,  mingling  the  moans  and  strife  of  nature  with  the  roar 
of  artillery.  Still  the  fury  of  the  onset  abated  not :  the 
Alamo  shook  to  its  firm  basis.  Despairingly  the  noble  band 
raised  their  eyes  to  the  blackened  sky.  “  God  help  us !  ” 
A  howling  blast  swept  by,  lost  in  the  deep  muttering  of  the 
cannonade.  Then  a  deep  voice  rung  clearly  out,  high  above 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO.  163 

the  surrounding  din  :  “  Comrades,  we  are  lost !  let  us  die 
like  brave  men  !  ” 

The  shriek  of  departing  hope  was  echoed  back  by  the 
sullen  groan  of  despair.  Travis  fell,  fighting  at  the  entrance. 
As  the  hero  sank  upon  the  glory  floor,  there  was  a  pause ; 
friend  and  foe  gazed  upon  the  noble  form  !  His  spirit 
sprung  up  to  meet  his  God. 

“  On,  comrades  !  Travis  has  fallen  !  dearly  will  we  die  !  ” 

One  hundred  and  fifty  brave  hearts  poured  out  their  life¬ 
blood  by  his  motionless  form,  struck  down  like  sheep  in  the 
slaughter-pen.  But  seven  remained  :  in  despair  they  gazed 
on  the  ruin  around,  reeling  from  exhaustion  and  slipping  in 
gore.  There  was  borne  on  the  midnight  air  a  faint,  feeble 
cry  :  “  Quarter !  quarter  !  ”  Alas  !  brave  hearts,  the  appeal 
was  lost,  for  an  incarnate  demon  led  the  thirsty  band.  With 
a  fiendish  yell  it  was  answered  back,  “  No  quarter  !  ”  and  ye 
seven  were  stretched  beside  your  fearless,  noble  Travis. 

Not  a  living  Texan  remained.  The  stiffening  forms, 
grim  in  death,  returned  not  even  a  groan  to  the  wild  shout 
of  triumph  that  rung  so  mockingly  though  the  deserted 
chambers  of  the  slaughter-house.  Victory  declared  for  the 
wily  tyrant — the  black-hearted  Santa  Anna.  Complete  was 
the  desolation  which  reigned  around  :  there  was  none  to 
oppose — no  not  one ;  and  the  Alamo  was  his  again  1  Oh, 
Death !  thou  art  insatiate  1  Hundreds  had  yielded  to  thy 
call,  and  followed  the  beckoning  of  thy  relentless  hand  :  and 
still  another  must  swell  thy  specter  host,  and  join  the 
shadowy  band  of  the  Spirit  World  ! 

For  three  days  Don  Garcia  lay  motionless  on  his  couch  of 
pain ;  even  utterance  was  denied  him,  for  paralysis  had 
stretched  forth  her  numb,  stiffening  finger,  and  touched  him, 
even  while  he  stood  in  the  busy  haunts  of  men.  All  day  the 
din  of  battle  had  sounded  in  his  ear  ;  Inez  from  time  to 
time  stole  from  his  side,  and  looked  out  toward  the  fortress, 
dimly  seen  through  the  sulphurous  cloud  of  smoke  and  the 
blaze  of  artillery. 

In  the  silent  watches  of  the  night,  the  shout  of  “  Victory  1 99 
was  borne  on  by  the  blast.  “  My  father,  the  Alamo  is  taken 
— Santa  Anna  has  conquered !  ”  He  struggled  fearfully,  a 
gurgling  sound  alone  passed  his  lips,  and  he  fell  back  lifeless 
on  his  pillow. 


164  INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 

Calmly  the  girl  bent  down  and  closed  the  eyes,  covered 
decently  the  convulsed  features,  and  then,  shrouding  her 
face  with  the  mantilla,  stept  forth  for  assistance.  The  next 
day  saw  the  Don  borne  to  his  last  resting-place.  In  accord¬ 
ance  with  the  custom  of  the  nation,  no  female  followed  the 
bier.  It  was  borne  by  two  men,  and  followed  by  some 
dozen  children,  and  perhaps  as  many  aged  Mexicans.  While 
just  in  advance  strode  the  Padre,  repeating  the  Latin  serv¬ 
ice  for  the  dead,  and  attended  by  four  boys — two  bearing 
censers,  one  a  cross,  and  the  other  holy  water.  With  inde¬ 
cent  haste  they  pressed  forward,  passing  through  the  church, 
and  resting  the  bier  for  a  moment  on  the  altar,  while  an  Ave 
Maria  was  repeated.  At  a  sign  from  the  Padre,  the  pro¬ 
cession  moved  on  to  the  churchyard,  and,  without  further 
ceremony,  the  body  deposited  in  consecrated  ground.  Holy 
water  was  sprinkled  profusedly  around,  and  then  all  departed, 
leaving  him  to  sleep  undisturbed  the  last  dreamless  sleep. 

Night  found  Inez  sitting  alone  by  her  dreary,  deserted 
hearth.  Father,  mother,  sister,  cousin,  all  had  passed  on 
before  her ;  and  the  last  of  her  house,  she  mused  in  her 
lonely  home.  A  faint  fire  flickering  on  the  hearth  just  re¬ 
vealed  the  form  and  face  of  the  Mexican  maiden.  Her 
mantilla  lay  on  the  floor  beside  her,  the  black  hair,  thick 
and  straight,  hung  to  the  waist,  her  brilliant,  piercing  eyes 
were  bent  vacantly  on  the  fire,  her  dark  cheek  perfectly 
colorless  as  clay. 

“  Who  is  there  to  care  for  Inez  now  ?  Who  will  smooth 
my  pillow,  and  close  my  eyes,  and  lay  me  to  rest  ?  ” 

Her  desolation  of  heart  conquered ;  her  head  sunk  upon 
her  bosom,  and  a  deep,  bitter  groan  burst  from  her  lips. 
Slowly  she  rocked  herself  to  and  fro  in  the  loneliness  of  her 
spirit. 

She  had  not  loved  her  father  warmly;  there  was  little 
congeniality  between  them,  and  her  hasty  rejection  of  Man¬ 
uel’s  suit  mutually  embittered  their  intercourse.  For  Ne- 
varro,  a  sort  of  sisterly  feeling  was  entertained,  no  warmer 
affection.  Yet  she  could  love  intensely.  A  little  sister  had 
waked  her  tenderness — her  heart  clung  to  the  gentle  child, 
so  unlike  herself.  She  sickened,  and  in  a  day  went  down 
to  the  tomb  :  bitter  was  the  grief  of  Inez,  who  felt  little  for 
her  mother,  and  soon  she  too  took  her  place  in  the  church- 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO.  165 

yard.  Dr.  Bryant  came,  and  again  Inez  loved — again  she 
was  disappointed  ;  and  now  she  sat  alone  in  the  wide  world, 
without  one  remaining  tie  to  bind  the  future. 

The  hour  of  bitterness  had  come.  She  looked  upon  that 
dreary  future  and  her  utter  desolation,  and  no  gleam  of  hope 
stole  to  her  darkened  soul.  An  almost  vacant  expression 
settled  on  the  dark  countenance  of  the  once  beautiful  maiden. 
Softly  the  door  was  pushed  ajar,  and  the  form  of  the  Padre 
stood  within.  By  instinct  she  seemed  aware  of  his  entrance, 
for  raising  her  bowed  head,  the  black  sparkling  eyes  flashed, 
and  the  broad  brow  wrinkled  into  a  frown  dark  as  night. 
He  approached  her,  and  they  stood  face  to  face  upon  the 
hearth. 

“  What  do  you  here,  in  the  house  of  death,  Mio  Padre  ?  ” 
“  Inez,  my  queen  of  beauty,  I  have  come  to  take  the  prize 
for  which  I  toiled.  There  are  none  now  between  us,  no,  not 
one.  You  need  not  draw  back  so  proudly.” 

A  bitter,  contemptuous  laugh  rung  out  on  the  night  air, 
and  Inez  folded  her  arms  upon  her  bosom. 

“  Truly,  Padre,  we  are  well  mated  !  You  have  opposed 
me,  and  I  thwarted  you  !  I  am  your  equal :  think  you  to 
intimidate  me  with  threats  ?  You  should  know  better !  ” 

“  Inez,  listen  !  I  leave  this  place  before  many  days.  My 
work  is  finished  here ;  there  are  none  to  oppose,  and  I  go 
elsewhere.  To  Mexico  first,  and  then  to  Italy.  You  must 
go  with  me,  my  proud  beauty !  I  cannot  leave  you  here  I  ” 
Again  Inez  laughed  her  mocking  laugh.  “  Go  with  you, 
Mio  Padre!  No,  no  ;  I  must  decline  the  honor.  The  hour 
of  settlement  has  come  !  Alphonso  Mazzolin,  for  long  you 
have  plotted  my  destruction  ;  and  one  by  one  removed  every 
obstacle  in  your  way,  and  smoothed  my  path  to  ruin  !  I  have 
known  this — silently  I  have  watched  you  maneuver.  You 
counseled  Manuel ;  you  flattered  him,  encouraged  his  hasty 
course  and  overbearing  manner,  and  caused  the  rupture 
between  us.  You  knew  mv  nature,  and  foresaw  the  result. 
You  thought  to  secure  me  within  the  walls  of  yonder  gloomy 
convent,  and  hoped  that  in  time  my  broad  lands  would  bless 
and  enrich  your  holy  church  !  But,  Padre,  I  did  not  fancy 
the  home  prepared  for  me  in  San  Jose.  I  promised  1  to 
comply  with  my  father's  wish,  and  fulfil  the  engagement, 
much  to  your  surprise  and  chagrin.  Padre,  I  would  have 


i66 


ANEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 


married  Manuel,  sooner  than  second  your  plans.  I,  too, 
foresaw  the  tempest  that  even  now  howls  over  us.  It  was 
my  only  hope,  and  I  said,  who  may  predict  the  chances  of 
war  ?  The  Americans  may  yet  number  the  most  here,  and 
then  your  power  will  be  at  an  end.  Seemingly  I  was  pas* 
sive,  but  you  are  thwarted.  We  stand  face  to  face,  and  I 
scorn  you,  incarnate  devil  as  you  are.  How  dared  you  do 
as  you  have  done  ?  Mine  eyes  are  opened — you  can  no 
longer  deceive  me  with  your  lying  legends  and  the  marvel¬ 
ous  traditions  of  your  country.  I  tell  you,  I  hate  you  with 
an  everlasting  hate.  You  have  led  me  far  from  God,  if  there 
be  a  God,  and  may  my  curse  follow  you,  even  to  your 
grave  !  ” 

Fiercely  the  glowing  face  was  bent  upon  him.  Hate, 
scorn,  bitterness  of  heart,  and  utter  desolation  mingled 
strangely  in  the  withering  glance.  The  Padre  seized  her 
arm,  and  hoarsely  exclaimed  : 

“  We  know  each  other  now :  no  matter,  you  cannot  es¬ 
cape  me :  if  force  be  necessary  to  take  you  hence,  I  can 
command  it  at  any  moment.  You  know  full  well  my  word 
is  law ;  resist  not,  nor  further  rouse  me — there  is  no  help  for 
you  save  in  submission.  I  will  not  leave  you.” 

il  Ere  I  follow  you  hence,  yonder  river  shall  close  over  my 
body.  I  tell  you  now  I  will  not  accompany  you.” 

He  stepped  to  the  door  and  whistled  faintly.  The  next 
moment  a  black-browed  soldier  stood  before  them. 

“  Herrara,  she  has  broken  her  promise — she  refuses  to 
enter  a  convent,  and  she  defies  me,  and  scorns  our  holy 
church.  I  somehow  expected  this ;  and  I  charge  you  now, 
suffer  her  not  to  pass  the  threshold  of  her  own  room ;  guard 
well  the  door,  there  is  no  window.  See  you,  Inez,  you  can¬ 
not  escape  me  ?  ”  He  whispered  in  the  intruder’s  ear,  and, 
promising  to  come  again  the  ensuing  day,  left  the  house, 
carefully  closing  the  door  after  him.  Lighting  his  cigarrita, 
Herrara  requested  Inez  to  seek  her  own  apartment,  that  he 
might  secure  the  door  outside,  and  then  return  to  the  fire. 
Without  a  word  she  ascended  the  stairs  to  her  own  room.  A 
chain  was  passed  about  the  door,  and  then  the  retreating 
steps  of  the  soldier  died  away. 

What  should  she  do  ?  Inez  sat  down  to  collect  her 
thoughts,  and  looked  round  the  apartment  The  wallas 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO.  i6j 

were  of  solid  rock,  and  in  one  corner  was  a  small  grating 
of  four  iron  bars,  which  admitted  light  and  air,  but  pre« 
eluded  all  hope  of  escape  in  that  quarter.  The  door  was 
secured,  and  no  means  of  egress  presented  itself.  Her  eye 
rested  on  her  lamp,  and  a  smile  lit  Tip  the  dark  countenance 
of  the  prisoner.  She  threw  herself  on  her  bed :  slowly  the 
hours  rolled — midnight  came  at  last.  She  rose  and  listened 
— no  stir,  no  sound  of  life  reached  her :  she  glanced  at  her 
lamp,  now  dim — the  light  was  waning,  and  softly  stepping 
across  the  room,  she  drew  from  a  basket  several  bundles  oi 
paper.  These  she  tore  in  pieces,  and  placing  them  beside 
the  door,  drew  the  lamp  near.  Inez  carefully  twisted  up 
her  long  black  hair,  and  placed  on  her  head  a  broad  som¬ 
brero,  which  the  Don  had  worn  of  late  ;  then  taking  his 
Mexican  blanket,  she  slipped  her  head  through  the  opening, 
and  suffered  it  to  fall  to  her  feet.  Something  seemed  for* 
gotten,  and  after  some  little  search,  she  found  a  small  cotton 
bag,  into  which  she  dropped  a  polonce,  then  secured  it  be¬ 
neath  the  blanket.  Queerly  enough  she  looked,  thus  ac¬ 
coutered  ;  but  apparently  the  oddity  of  her  appearance  never 
once  crossed  her  mind,  for,  stepping  across  the  floor,  she 
held  the  pieces  of  paper  over  the  lamp  till  ignited,  then 
quickly  thrust  them  one  by  one  between  the  small  crack  or 
chink  in  the  center  of  the  door.  It  was  of  wood,  old  and 
dry,  and  caught  like  tinder.  She  watched  it  burn ;  the  door 
was  narrow,  and  the  devouring  element  soon  consumed  all 
save  the  top  and  bottom  pieces  which  extended  across. 
These  quivered  as  their  support  crumbled  beneath  them, 
and  soon  would  fall  with  a  crash.  She  watched  her  time, 
and  gathering  dress  and  blanket  closely  about  her,  sprang 
through,  and  though  almost  suffocated  with  smoke,  hurried 
down  to  a  small  door  at  the  rear  of  the  house.  ‘  She  stood 
without  and  listened  :  Inez  fancied  she  heard  the  crackling 
of  the  fire,  yet  there  was  no  time  to  lose.  Just  before  her 
sat  a  large  stone  vessel,  containing  the  soaking  corn  for  the 
morning  tortillos ;  drawing  forth  her  bag,  she  filled  it  with 
the  swollen  grain,  and  hastened  on  to  where  a  small  black 
horse  was  lassoed,  having  his  hay  scattered  on  the  ground 
beside  him.  It  was  but  the  work  of  a  moment  to  throw  on 
and  fasten  her  father’s  saddle,  which  hung  on  a  neighboring 
-'■'•tr^e,  and  loosing  the  hair  lariat,  she  patted  the  pony  she 


1 68 


INEZ :  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


had  often  ridden  on  St. - ’s  day,  and  sprang  into  the  seat. 

Slowly  she  passed  through  the  narrow  yard,  and  entered  the 
street ;  pausing,  she  glanced  up  at  her  window,  and  per¬ 
ceived  through  the  grating  the  blaze  and  smoke  now  filling 
the  vacant  room.  Distinctly  the  clank  of  the  chain  fell  on 
her  ear,  and  turning  into  an  alley,  she  galloped  away. 

Inez  knew  it  would  be  impossible  to  pass  over  the  bridge, 
and  down  the  Alameda  without  detection,  for  seven  hundred 
Mexican  troops  were  stationed  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town ; 
and,  with  the  celerity  of  thought,  she  directed  her  way  in 
the  opposite  direction,  toward  a  shallow  portion  of  the  river, 
occasionally  used  as  a  ford.  Happily  the  distance  was 
short ;  and  urging  her  somewhat  unwilling  horse,  she  plunged 
in.  The  moon  rose  full  and  bright  as  she  reached  the  op¬ 
posite  bank ;  and  pausing  a  moment,  she  looked  back  upon 
the  sleeping  town.  No  sound  of  life  fell  on  her  ear ;  and 
avoiding  the  beaten  track,  she  turned  her  horse  out  on  the 
grass,  and  hastened  on  toward  the  east,  directing  her  course 
so  as  to  pass  beyond  the  Powder-House,  which  was  dimly 
seen  in  the  distance.  At  a  quick  canter  it  was  soon  passed, 
and  she  pressed  on  to  the  Salado,  some  three  miles  distant. 
Full  well  she  knew  she  would  be  sought  for  when  morning 
dawned ;  and  with  such  speed  she  almost  flew  on,  that  sun¬ 
rise  found  her  many  miles  from  her  home.  Inez  was  fear¬ 
less,  or  she  would  never  have  dared  to  undertake  what  lay 
before  her.  Alone,  unprotected,  in  the  guise  of  a  man, 
without  possessing  his  ordinary  means  of  defense,  there  was 
much  to  risk ;  for  Indian  depredations  were  frequent,  and 
she  must  traverse  a  wide  waste  of  almost  interminable  length 
ere  reaching  any  settlement. 

When  the  sunbeams  played  joyously  about  her  Inez 
stopped  to  rest,  and  eating  a  few  grains  of  her  treasured  corn, 
she  allowed  her  horse  to  graze  a  short  time  along  the  mar¬ 
gin  of  a  stream,  where  the  grass  was  tender  and  abundant ; 
and  then  remounting,  rode  on  somewhat  more  leisurely  than 
she  had  previously  done.  * 


INEZ  :  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


169 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

“To  die,  is  landing  on  some  silent  shore, 

Where  billows  never  beat  nor  tempests  roar  !” 

Garth. 

Since  morning,  Mary  had  lain  in  the  deep,  dreamless 
sleep  of  exhaustion :  and  now  the  leafless  boughs,  which 
waved  to  and  fro  before  her  window,  threw  long  shadows 
athwart  the  wall  and  across  the  deserted  yard.  Evening 
was  creeping  slowly  on.  Over  the  wan,  yet  lovely  face  of 
the  sleeper  had  come  a  gradual  change — agonizing,  yet  in¬ 
describable.  It  ever  appears  when  Death  approaches  to 
claim  his  victim,  and  it  seems  as  though  the  shadow  cast  by 
his  black  pinions.  Mary  opened  her  eyes  and  looked  silently 
on  the  sad  group  which  clustered  around  her  couch.  Mr. 
Stewart,  alone  able  to  command  his  voice,  asked  if  she  was 
not  better,  as  she  had  slept  so  gently. 

“  All  is  well,  Mr.  Stewart — I  have  no  pain  ;  ”  and  her 
eye  again  rested  on  Florence.  Long  was  the  look,  and  full  of 
deep,  unutterable  tenderness.  Feebly  she  extended  her  hand* 

“  Florry  I  ” 

Her  cousin  knelt  beside  her,  and  buried  her  face  in  her 
hands.  Mary  laid  hers  on  the  bowed  head. 

“  Dear  Florry,  I  have  little  time  to  stay.  Do  not  sadden 
this  last  hour  with  vain  regrets.  Ah  !  my  cousin,  I  thank 
God  that  you  will  be  so  happy.  When  you  miss  me  from 
your  side  you  will  feel  lonely  enough,  and  your  heart  will 
ache  for  me  again.  Yet,  though  bodily  absent,  I  shall  not 
be  far  away,  Florry.  My  spirit  will  hover  round  the  loved 
ones  I  leave  on  earth.  Your  dead,  forming  an  angel-guard, 
will  ever  linger  about  your  earthly  path,  and  in  the  hour 
like  this  will  bear  up  your  spirit  to  God.  Think  not  of  me 
as  resting  in  the  silent  grave.  I  shall  not  be  there,  but 
ever  near  you.  I  do  not  say,  try  to  forget  me,  and  fix  your 
thoughts  on  other  things.  Oh  !  I  beg  you  to  think  of  me 
often,  and  of  our  glorious  reunion  in  heaven  I  Florry,  there 


170 


WEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


is  one  thing  which  will  stand  between  you  and  me.  My 
dear  cousin,  conquer  your  pride,  cast  away  your  haughtiness, 
and  learn  to  lean  on  God,  and  walk  in  accordance  with  his 
law.  Oh  !  who  would  exchange  the  hope  of  a  Christian  for 
all  that  worlds  could  offer  ?  One  may  pass  through  life, 
and  do  without  it ;  but  in  the  hour  of  death  its  claim  is 
imperatively  urged,  and  none  can  go  down  to  the  tomb  in 
peace  without  it.  Florry,  you  said  last  night  it  was  hard 
that  I  should  die.  I  am  not  merely  reconciled,  but  I  am 
happy  !  Earth  looks  very  bright  and  joyous,  and  if  I  might 
stay,  my  future  is  attractive  indeed.  Yet  I  know  that  for 
some  good  end  I  am  taken,  and  what  seems  to  you  so  hard, 
is  but  a  blessing  in  disguise.  Oh !  then,  when  you  are 
summoned  away,  may  you  feel,  as  I  now  do,  that  the  arms 
of  your  God  are  outstretched  to  receive  you.”  She  held 
out  her  hand  to  Mr.  Stewart,  who  stood  beside  her :  he 
clasped  it  in  his. 

“  Cherish  Florry,  and  let  no  shadow  come  between  you. 
It  gives  me  inexpressible  joy  to  know  that  when  I  am  gone 
you  will  be  near  to  love  and  to  guide  her.” 

“  We  will  comfort  and  guide  each  other,  dear  Mary,  and 
oh !  I  pray  God  that  we  may  be  enabled  to  join  you  in  that 
land  of  rest  to  which  you  are  hastening.”  He  fervently 
kissed  the  thin  white  hand  he  held,  and  then  gently  raised 
Florence.  Mary  lifted  her  arms  feebly,  and  they  clasped 
each  other  in  a  long,  last  embrace. 

“  Mary,  my  angel  cousin,  I  cannot  give  you  up.  Oh !  I 
have  never  prized  you  as  I  ought.  Who  will  love  me  as 
you  have  done  ?  ” 

“  Hush,  Florry!  ”  whispered  the  sinking  voice  of  the  suf¬ 
ferer.  “  I  am  very,  very  happy — kiss  me,  and  say  good-by.” 

Gently  Dr.  Bryant  took  Florence  from  her  cousin,  and 
then  each  in  turn,  Mrs.  Carlton  and  Aunt  Lizzy,  bent  over 
her  ;  as  the’  latter  turned  away,  Mary  took  her  hand,  and 
drawing  her  down,  murmured  : 

“  My  dear  aunt,  forgive  what  may  have  pained  you  in  my 
past  life.  We  have  differed  on  many  points,  but  we  both 
know  there  is  one  God.  Ah  !  aunt,  in  his  kingdom  may  we 
soon  meet  again :  think  of  me  often,  dear  aunt.  When  I 
am  gone  you  will  be  very  lonely,  but  only  for  a  short  period 
are  we  separated.” 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO.  17a 

Dr.  Bryant  elevated  her  pillow  that  she  might  rest  more 
easily.  She  lifted  her  eyes  to  his  pale  face.  “  Frank,  will 
you  turn  the  sofa  that  I  may  see  the  sun  set  once  more  ?  ” 

He  moved  it  to  the  west  window,  and  drew  aside  the  cur* 
tain  that  the  golden  beams  might  enter  :  she  could  not  look 
out,  for  the  sofa  was  low,  and  sitting  down  beside  her,  he 
passed  his  arm  around  her,  and  lifted  her  head  to  his 
bosom.  For  a  time  she  looked  out  on  the  brilliant  hues  of 
the  setting  sun,  now  just  visible  above  the  tree  tops. 
Slowly  it  sank,  then  disappeared  forever  to  her  vision. 
Once  Dr.  Bryant  had  seen  her  lips  move,  as  in  prayer ;  now 
the  deep  blue  eyes  were  again  raised  to  the  loved  face  bend¬ 
ing  over  her. 

“Long  ago,  I  prayed  to  God  that  I  might  fade  away 
gently,  and  die  a  painless  death.  He  has  granted  my  pe¬ 
tition.  All  things  seem  very  calm  and  beautiful — earth 
ne’er  looked  so  like  heaven  before  ;  yet  how  insignificant  in 
comparison  with  the  glories  which  await  me.  Frank,  if 
aught  could  draw  me  back,  and  make  me  loth  to  leave  this 
world,  it  would  be  my  love  for  you.  Life  would  be  so 
bright  passed  by  your  side.  You  know  the  depth  of  my 
love,  yet  I  may  not  remain.  Frank,  tell  me  that  you  can 
give  me  up  for  a  little  while.  Oh  l  can  you  not  say,  4  God’s 
will  be  done  ?  ’  ” 

44  Mary,  it  is  a  terrible  trial  to  yield  you  up,  when  I  looked 
forward  so  joyously  to  the  future.  It  is  hard  to  think  of 
the  long,  long  dreary  years  that  are  to  come,  and  know  that 
you  will  not  be  near  me ;  that  I  cannot  see  your  face,  or 
hear  your  loved  tones.  Oh,  Mary,  you  know  not  the  bitter¬ 
ness  of  this  hour  ;  yet  I  can  say  God’s  will  be  done,  for  I 
have  conquered  my  own  heart,  but  every  earthly  joy  and 
hope  has  passed  away.  To  our  reunion  I  must  ever  look  as 
my  only  comfort,  and  I  pray  God  that  it  may  be  speedy.” 

He  bent  his  head  till  his  lips  restejd  on  the  white  brow, 
now  damp  in  death.  Wearily  she  turned  her  face  toward 
his ;  he  clasped  the  wasted  form  tightly  to  his  heart,  and 
kissed  the  pale  lips  ;  her  fingers  clasped  his  hand  gently, 
and  she  whispered,  “  Good-by  1  ” 

u 

by  I 

Again  be  pressed  his  lips  to  hers,  and  then  rested  her 


Good-by,  my  darling  Mary  ! — my  own  angel  one,  good- 


1J2  jNEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 

head  more  easily  upon  his  arm.  The  eyes  closed,  and  those 
who  stood  watching  her  low,  irregular  breathing,  fancied  she 
slept  again. 

One  arm  was  around  her,  while  the  other  supported  the 
drooping  head.  Her  beautiful  brown  hair  fell  over  his  arm, 
and  left  exposed  the  colorless  face.  She  was  wasted,  yet 
beautiful  in  its  perfect  peace  and  joy  was  the  expression 
which  rested  on  her  features.  Dr.  Bryant,  leaning  his  noble 
brow  on  hers,  felt  her  spirit  pass  away  in  the  last  sigh  which 
escaped  her  lips.  Yet  he  did  not  lift  his  head.  Cold  as 
marble  grew  the  white  fingers  which  lingered  in  his,  still  he 
clasped  her  tightly.  He  sat  with  closed  eyes,  communing 
with  his  own  saddened  heart ;  he  was  stilling  the  agony 
which  welled  up,  and  casting  forth  the  bitterness  which 
mingled  darkly  with  his  grief,  and  he  said  unto  his  tortured 
soul :  “  Be  still !  my  treasure  is  laid  up  in  heaven.  ” 

He  lifted  the  hair  from  his  arm,  and  gently  drew  his  hand 
from  hers  ;  yet,  save  for  the  icy  coldness  of  her  brow,  none 
would  have  known  that  the  soul  which  lent  such  gentle  love¬ 
liness  to  the  countenance  had  flown  home  to  God. 

Dr.  Bryant  pressed  a  last  kiss  on  the  closed  eyes  and 
marble  brow,  softly  laid  her  on  her  pillow,  and  left  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

“  All  things  are  dark  to  sorrow,”  and  the  very  repose 
and  beauty  of  nature  seem  to  the  aching  heart  a  mockery. 
No  violent  bursts  of  grief  had  followed  Mary’s  death,  for  so 
peaceful  and  painless  was  her  end,  it  was  scarce  allowable. 
Yet  now  that  she  had  been  consigned  to  the  quiet  grave,  a 
dreary  sense  of  loneliness  and  desolation  crept  to  the  hearts 
of  the  saddened  group.  They  stood  assembled  at  the  door 
of  their  new  home,  to  bid  adieu  to  Dr.  Bryant.  In  vain  had 
been  his  sister’s  tears  and  entreaties,  and  Mr.  Carlton’s  ex¬ 
postulations.  Florence  had  clasped  his  hand,  and  asked 
in  trembling  accents,  why  he  left  them  in  their  sorrow,  and 
Mr.  Stewart  implored  him  not  to  seek  death  on  the 
field. 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 


*73 


Firm  in  his  purpose,  naught  availed.  He  stood  upon  the 
step  ready  to  depart;  his  noble  face  was  very  pale,  and 
grief  had  touched  with  saddening  finger  every  lineament. 
Yet  his  tone  and  mien  were  calm  as  usual. 

“  My  dear  sister,”  said  he,  “  in  times  like  these  a  man 
should  first  regard  duty — the  laws  and  precepts  of  his  God  ! 
then  the  claims  of  his  suffering  country  ;  andv  lastly,  the  ties 
of  nature  and  the  tenderer  feelings  of  his  heart.  Ellen,  think 
how  many  have  torn  themselves  from  weeping  wives  and 
clinging  children,  and  cast  their  warm  love  far  from  them. 
The  call  to  patriots  is  imperative.  I  have  now  nothing  to 
detain  me  here  :  it  is  my  duty  to  lend  my  arm  toward  sup¬ 
porting  our  common  liberty.  Do  not  fear  for  me,  Ellen,  my 
dear  sister  ;  remember  that  the  strong  arm  of  all-seeing  God 
is  ever  around  us,  to  guard  in  time  of  danger  !  ”  He  clasped 
her  tenderly  to  his  heart,  then  placed  her  in  her  husband’s 
arms. 

“  Florence,  if  not  again  in  Texas,  I  hope  we  shall  soon 
meet,  in  more  peaceful  hours,  in  Louisiana  ;  if  not,  I  pray 
God  that  you  and  Stewart  may  be  as  happy  as  I  once  hoped 
to  be.”  He  pressed  her  hand  warmly,  and  returning  the 
long,  tight  clasp  of  Mr.  Stewart,  mounted  his  horse  and  rode 
slowly  away. 

“  Mother,”  said  Elliot,  “  Uncle  Frank  has  not  taken  the 
right  road  toward  home.” 

“  Hush,  Elliot !  ”  she  sadly  answered,  while  her  tears 
gushed  anew ;  “  he  has  gone  by  his  Mary’s  grave.” 

On  that  hour,  spent  at  the  early  tomb  of  the  “  loved  and 
lost  ”  Mary,  we  will  not  intrude  :  it  is  rendered  sacred  by  its 
deep,  unutterable  anguish. 

Nearly  a  week  passed,  and  Dr.  Bryant  had  hurried  on, 
riding  through  the  long,  long  nights,  and  only  pausing  at  times 
to  recruit  his  jaded  steed.  He  had  arrived  at  within  two 
days’  ride  of  San  Antonio,  and  too  wearied  to  proceed, 
stopped  as  night  closed  in,  and  picketing  his  horse  wrapped 
his  cloak  about  him,  and  threw  himself  under  a  large  spread¬ 
ing  oak  to  rest,  and,  if  possible,  to  sleep.  An  hour  passed 
on :  still  he  lay  looking  up  to  the  brilliant  sky  above.  Per¬ 
fect  quiet  reigned  around,  and  he  felt  soothed  inexpress¬ 
ibly.  Overcome  with  fatigue,  sleep  stole  on,  and  momen¬ 
tary  oblivion  of  the  past  was  granted.  He  was  startled  from 


17*  INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 

■"*  _/  • 

his  slumber  by  the  neighing  of  his  horse  ;  and  rising  lightly, 
drew  forth  his  pistols,  cocked  one,  and  turned  in  the  direo 
tion  whence  came  the  sound  of  approaching  hoofs.  The 
neighing  was  answered  by  the  advancing  steed,  and  soon 
the  figure  of  both  rider  and  horse  was  dimly  seen  ;  for  the 
moon  was  not  yet  risen,  and  the  pale  light  of  the  stars  but 
faintly  assisted  the  vision. 

“  Who  comes  there  ?  ”  asked  Dr.  Bryant,  throwing  off  his 
cloak,  and  stepping  up  to  the  stranger. 

“  A  peaceful  Mexican,  in  search  of  cows,  and  some  twenty 
sheep  which  strayed  away.  I  think,  from  your  voice,  you 
are  an  Americano.  I  am  friendly  to  your  people — you  will 
not  molest  me,  and  I  will  not  harm  you.” 

“  My  friend,  I  rather  doubt  your  word.  These  are  stormy 
times  for  a  man  to  venture  out  in  search  of  cattle,  so  far 
from  San  Antonio.” 

“  I  could  tell  you  a  piece  of  news  that  would  satisfy  you 
that  I  run  less  risk  than  yourself.  But,  stranger,  it’s  not 
civil  to  doubt  a  man’s  word,  and  make  him  an  enemy  whether 
he  will  or  not.” 

“  I  am  willing  to  receive  your  proffered  proof  of  sincerity, 
and  hope  to  find  you  unlike  your  fickle  nation.  Come,  tell 
the  news  which  sanctions  this  long  ramble  of  yours.  These 
are  dark  days,  and  it  becomes  every  man  to  look  well  to  his 
own  safety,  and  likewise  watch  his  neighbor’s  movements.” 

“  I  will  do  you  a  kindness,  stranger ;  turn  your  horse’s 
head,  and  let  moonrise  find  you  where  you  drank  water  at 
noon.  San  Antonio  is  no  place  for  Americans  now.  Santa 
Anna  has  taken  the  Alamo ;  and  every  one  of  your  people 
lie  low.  Not  one  was  spared  to  carry  the  tale  to  Austin — 
no,  not  one !  ” 

Dr.  Bryant  groaned  in  spirit,  and  his  extended  arm  sunk 
to  his  side. 

“  Oh  God  !  hast  thou  forsaken  us  ?  Surely  thou  wilt  yet 
listen  to  the  voice  of  justice  and  liberty,”  he  murmured  to 
himself,  and  there  was  a  pause. 

“  How  long  since  the  ill-fated  Alamo  fell  ?  ”  he  inquired. 

“  Five  days  ago.  Hintzilopotchli  came  down  and  held  his 
bloody  feast,  and  cut  off  many  brave  men.” 

“  By  what  force  was  the  fortress  assaulted  ?  ” 

“  Seven  thousand  men,  led  by  the  great  and  victorious 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO.  175 

) 

Santa  Anna.  Not  long  lasted  the  strife  :  we  were  too  many 
for  your  people,  and  the  fight  was  short.” 

“  And  was  our  noble  Travis  slaughtered  with  his  brave 
band  ?  ” 

“  He  was  too  brave  to  live.  Think  you  he  would  survive 
his  comrades?  No!  he  fell  first,  and  then  all  followed.” 

“  Will  Santa  Anna  march  to  Austin,  think  you ;  or,  con¬ 
tent  with  victory,  remain  in  your  town  ?  ” 

“  Truly  you  give  me  credit  for  few  brains  and  a  woman’s 
tongue.  I  have  told  you  one  true  tale,  can  you  expect 
another  from  a  fickle  Mexican  ?  I  tell  you  now,  stranger, 
push  me  not  too  closely,  if  you  would  hear  what  is  good  for 
you.” 

“  Your  voice  sounds  strangely  familiar ;  yet  I  cannot 
recognize  it  sufficiently  to  know  with  whom  I  am  speaking. 
If,  as  you  declare,  friendly  to  our  people,  you  will  not  object 
to  giving  your  name.  Perhaps  I  have  known  you  in  San 
Antonio.” 

“  We  Mexicans  can  tell  a  friend  across  the  prairie — but 
no  matter.  I  am  thinking  we  be  strangers,  yet  I  am  not 
ashamed  of  my  name.  They  call  me  Antoine  Amedo — did 

irou  ever  hear  of  such  an  1  hombre  ? *  My  ranche  is  just  be- 
ow  the  mission  San  Jose,  and  I  have  large  flocks  of  sheep 
and  cattle.” 

“  Antoine  Amedo,”  repeated  Dr.  Bryant,  musingly,  and 
striving,  through  the  gloom,  to  scan  his  features.  “You  are 
right;  I  do  not  know  you,  though  your  voice  is  familiar.” 

“  If  you  have  no  objection,  Senor  Americano,  I  will  let 
my  horse  picket  awhile,  and  rest  myself ;  for  I  have  ridden 
many  miles  since  sunrise,  and  not  a  blessed  ‘  barego  *  have 
1  smelled.” 

“  You  are  at  liberty  to  rest  as  long  as  you  please:  con¬ 
sult  your  own  inclinations.”  And  he  turned  away  to  his 
own  horse,  yet  marked  that  the  newcomer  dismounted  with 
some  difficulty. 

He  changed  his  own  picket,  that  fresh  grass  might  not 
be  wanting ;  and  returning  to  the  tree,  leaned  against  its 
huge  body,  and  watched  the  movements  of  the  intruder. 
They  were  very  slow,  as  if  he  were  well-nigh  spent  with 
overexertion.  He  took  off  his  broad  hat.  smoothed  his  hair, 
then  replaced  it ;  adjusted  his  heavy  blanket  more  comfort- 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


176 

ably,  and  drawing  forth  a  sort  of  wallet,  proceeded  to  sat* 
isfy  the  cravings  of  hunger.  He  ate  but  little,  and  return¬ 
ing  the  bag  or  sack  to  its  hiding-place  in  the  broad  girdle 
which  was  passed  about  his  waist  beneath  the  blanket, 
stretched  himself  on  the  ground,  with  not  even  a  straggling 
bough  between  him  and  the  deep  blue  vault  of  heaven. 

No  sound  broke  the  silence,  save  the  cropping  of  the 
horses  as  they  grazed  near  ;  and,  seeking  again  his  grassy 
couch,  Dr.  Bryant  closed  his  eyes,  and  communed  with  his 
own  heart.  Sleep  was  now  impossible,  and  he  lay  so  rapt 
in  thought,  that  time  flew  on  unheeded.  The  moon  was 
shining  brightly  now,  and  every  object  was  distinctly  seen. 
He  heard  the  rustling  of  leaves  and  the  crush  of  grass.  A 
moment  he  opened  his  eyes,  then  closed  them,  and  feigned 
sleep. 

The  Mexican  had  risen,  and  softly  approaching  the  mo¬ 
tionless  form,  knelt  on  the  ground  beside  him,  and  listened 
to  his  breathing.  It  was  low  and  regular,  as  one  in  quiet 
slumber.  He  bent  and  gazed  into  the  upturned  face — not 
a  muscle  quivered  or  a  feature  moved.  Stealthily  a  hand 
crept  round  the  collar  of  the  cloak,  and  lifted  a  heavy  lock 
of  the  raven  hair.  Smoothing  it  out  on  the  grass,  he  drew 
forth  a  crooked  blade,  which,  in  accordance  with  the  cus¬ 
tom  of  his  countrymen,  ever  hung  in  the  girdle  passed  about 
the  waist.  It  glittered  in  the  moonlight;  and  with  dex¬ 
terous  hand  he  cut  the  lock  of  hair :  then,  returning  the 
knife  to  its  resting-place,  rose,  and  noiselessly  retreating  to 
his  former  position,  some  yards  distant,  threw  himself  down 
to  sleep. 

Dr.  Bryant,  fully  conscious  of  every  movement,  deter¬ 
mined,  if  possible,  to  solve  this  mystery.  His  pistols  were 
in  readiness,  and,  had  violence  been  attempted,  he  would 
have  sprung  to  his  feet  and  defended  himself.  He  waited 
awhile,  then  turned,  stretched,  yawned,  and  finally  rose 
up.  He  drew  out  his  watch,  the  hand  pointed  to  two.  He 
wound  it  up,  and  drawing  his  cap  closer  about  his  ears,  for 
the  night  was  cold,  approached  his  companion  and  stirred 
him  with  his  foot.  No  sound  or  movement  indicated  con¬ 
sciousness  ;  he  stooped  and  shook  him. 

“  Antoine,  Antoine,  get  up  my  friend :  you  don’t  intend  to 
spend  the  night  here,  do  you  ? 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 


177 


Ameda  sat  upright,  and  rubbed  his  eyes  with  well-feigned 
sleepiness :  “  Well,  Senor  Americano,  what  is  it — Indians 
smelling  about  ?  ” 

Dr.  Bryant  could  not  repress  a  smile  at  the  drowsy  tone 
of  the  ranchero,  who  scarce  five  moments  before  had  crept 
from  his  side. 

“  Upon  my  word,  you  seem  a  match  for  the  seven  sleep¬ 
ers  of  old.  Why,  man,  if  Indians  had  stumbled  on  you  by 
chance,  they  had  slung  your  scalp  on  yonder  bough.  In 
times  like  these  men  should  slumber  lightly.” 

“  Very  true,  Senor ;  yet  mine  eyes  are  heavy,  for  two 
moons  have  seen  me  riding  on.  But  you  are  up !  where¬ 
fore  ?  ” 

“  I  proceed  on  my  journey,  and  wakened  you  to  ask  ad¬ 
vice  and  direction,  and  request  your  company,  if  it  be  that 
we  take  the  same  route.” 

“Jesu  Maria!  One  might  think  the  man  had  choice ! 
Why,  turn  your  horse’s  head,  and  rest  for  naught  but  grass 
and  water.” 

The  Mexican  had  risen,  and  in  adjusting  his  blanket,  a 
sudden  gust  of  wind  lifted  his  hat,  and  it  fell  to  the  ground 
at  his  feet ;  he  clutched  at  it  convulsively,  but  it  was  too 
late.  Dr.  Bryant  started  back  in  astonishment : 

“  Inez  !  ” 

The  head  sunk  on  her  bosom,  and  the  hair  which  had 
been  confined  at  the  back  of  her  head,  fell  in  luxuriant 
masses  to  her  waist. 

“  Fearless,  yet  unfortunate  girl !  what  has  led  you  to  this 
freak  ?  ” 

A  singular  group  they  presented,  standing  on  the  broad 
and  seemingly  boundless  prairie — the  March  wind  moaning 
through  the  old  oaks,  and  rustling  the  brown  grass.  The 
moon  shone  full  upon  them ;  Dr.  Bryant,  with  his  large 
cloak  wrapped  closely  about  him,  and  the  black  cap  drawn 
over  his  brow — surprise,  reproach,  pity,  and  chagrin  strangely 
blended  in  his  gaze.  One  arm  was  folded  over  the  broad 
chest,  the  other  hung  by  his  side.  Inez  stood  just  before 
him,  her  beautiful  head  bent  so  that  the  black  locks  well- 
nigh  concealed  her  features.  Her  father’s  large  variegated 
blanket  hanging  loosely  about  the  tall,  slender  form.  At  her 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


178 

feet  lay  the  hat,  crushed  by  the  extended  foot,  and  quivering 
in  the  night  wind,  her  hands  tightly  clasped. 

“  Inez,  you  crouch  like  a  guilty  being  before  me !  Surely 
you  have  done  nothing  to  blush  for.  Yet  stranger  step  was 
never  taken  by  a  reasonable  being.  Inez,  raise  your  head, 
and  tell  me  what  induced  you  to  venture  in  this  desolate 
region,  alone,  unprotected,  and  in  disguise  ?  ” 

Inez  lifted  slowly  the  once  beautiful  face,  now  haggard 
and  pale.  Anguish  of  spirit  had  left  its  impress  on  her 
dark  brow,  wrinkled  by  early  care.  Mournful  was  the  ex¬ 
pression  of  the  large  dark  eyes  raised  to  his  face  : 

“  Dr.  Bryant,  I  am  alone  in  the  wide,  wide  world — there 
are  none  to  protect — none  to  care  for  me  now!  My  father 
sleeps  by  Manuel’s  side,  in  the  churchyard,  and  I  am  the 
last  of  my  house.  The  name  of  De  Garcia,  once  so  proud 
and  honored,  will  become  a  byword  for  desolation  and 
misery  1  I  have  said  cursed  was  the  hour  of  my  birth  !  and 
I  now  say  blessed  is  the  hour  of  my  last  sleep !  You  see 
me  here  from  necessity,  not  choice,  for  all  places  would  be 
alike  to  me  now ;  but  I  have  been  driven  from  my  lonely 
hearth — I  dared  not  stay,  I  flew  to  this  dreary  waste  for 
peace — for  protection  !  There  is  no  rest,  no  peace  for  me, 
Not  one  is  left  to  whom  I  can  say,  guard  and  keep  me  from 
harm  !  Alone,  friendless,  in  this  wide,  bitter  world  !  ” 

“  Your  language  is  strangely  ambiguous,  Inez  !  Can  you 
not  explicitly  declare  what  danger  threatens,  and  believe 
that  all  I  can  do  to  avert  evil  will  gladly  be  done  ?  ” 

“  Dr.  Bryant,  the  Padre  is  my  most  inveterate  enemy ! 
Is  not  this  sufficient  to  account  for  my  presence  here  ?  ” 

“  Unfortunate  girl !  how  have  you  incurred  that  man’s 
hatred  ?  ” 

“  It  is  a  long  tale,  and  needless  to  repeat :  enough,  that 
he  plotted  my  ruin — that  the  strong,  silent  walls  of  a  far-off 
convent  was  my  destination.  And  why  ? — That  my  flocks 
and  lands  might  enrich  his  precious  church.  You  look 
wonderingly  upon  me  ;  strange  language,  this,  I  think  you 
say,  for  a  lamb  of  his  flock.  How  dare  you  speak  so  irrev¬ 
erently  of  the  holy  man,  consecrated  priest  of  Rome  as  he 
is  ?  Dr.  Bryant,  I  am  no  Catholic,  nor  have  I '  been  since 
you  have  known  me.  It  was  my  policy  to  appear  passive. 
I  attended  mass,  and  sought  the  confessional,  and  all  the 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO .  179 

while  cursed  him  in  my  heart.  I  watched  him,  and  saved 
your  people  from  destruction.  Would  you  know  how?  1 
heard  whispered  promises  to  meet  at  dead  of  night.  I 
followed;  I  saw  the  meeting  between  an  emmissary  of 
Santa  Anna  and  my  godly  Padre.  At  imminent  risk  I 
listened  to  their  plot.  You  were  to  be  kept  in  ignorance  of 
the  powerful  force  hurrying  on  to  destroy  you.  Santa  Anna 
was  to  burst  suddenly  upon  the  town,  and,  ere  you  could 
receive  reinforcements,  capture  the  Alamo  at  a  blow. 
Once  in  his  possession,  more  than  one  of  your  people  were 
to  be  handed  over  to  the  tender  mercies  of  my  holy  con¬ 
fessor.  I  warned  you  of  your  danger,  and  happily  you 
heeded  the  signs  of  the  time ;  else  you,  too,  would  now 
molder  beneath  the  walls  of  the  Alamo.  His  prey  escaped 
him,  and  with  redoubled  eagerness  he  sought  to  consummate 
my  destruction.  I  was  made  a  prisoner  in  my  own  home, 
ere  the  sod  settled  on  my  father’s  grave !  •  I  fled  in  the  mid¬ 
night  hour,  and  you  see  me  here !  Dr.  Bryant,  I  well-nigh 
cut  short  the  knotted  thread  of  my  life ;  but  one  thing  saved 
me,  else  my  body  would  even  now  whirl  along  the  channel 
of  the  river.  When  I  parted  from  the  blue-eyed,  sainted 
Mary,  she  gave  me  this  book,  and  asked  me  not  only  to 
read  but  follow  its  teachings.  She  clasped  my  hand,  and 
told  me  to  remember  God,  and  the  eternity  which  awaited 
me,  and  the  judgment  of  that  other,  final  world.  Oh  !  if 
there  be  a  heaven  and  a  purgatory  !  a  God  and  a  judge !  if 
I  sink  to  perdition,  one  alone  is  to  blame.  He  told  me  he 
had  power  to  forgive  my  sins ;  that  the  more  completely  I 
obeyed  him  on  earth,  the  more  blessed  I  should  be  in 
heaven.  Yet  I  have  heard  him  lie,  and  seen  him  set  aside 
the  rules  of  humanity  and  the  laws  of  God !  Mary’s  Bible 
tells  me  i  to  keep  holy  the  Sabbath  day.’  Yet,  from  my 
childhood,  I  have  seen  our  Priests  at  mass  on  Sabbath 
morning,  and  at  monte  and  cock-fights  on  the  evening  of  the 
same  day  I  And  I  have  seen  them  take  from  the  widow,  as 
the  burial-fee  of  her  husband,  the  last  cow  she  possessed. 
I  saw  these  things,  and  I  said,  there  is  no  God,  or  he  would 
not  suffer  such  as  these  to  minister  as  his  chosen  servants 
upon  the  earth.  I  said  in  my  heart,  purgatory  is  but  a  lie 
made  to  keep  pace  with  their  marvelous  legends  and  frequent 
miracles  \  There  is  not  a  purgatory,  or  they  would  fear  the 


INEZ :  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 


I  So 

retribution  in  store  for  them.  I  had  none  to  teach  me 
aright.  I  mocked  at  the  thought  of  religion.  I  said  there 
is  none  on  the  earth — 'it  is  merely  a  system  of  gain,  and  all 
that  constitutes  the  difference  is,  that  some  are  by  nature 
more  of  devils,  and  others  gifted  with  milder  hearts.  But  I 
saw  Mary — pure  angel  that  she  is — I  saw  her  with  the  sick 
and  the  dying :  she  railed  not  at  our  priest,  as  he  at  her. 
She  carried  her  Bible  to  the  bed  of  death,  and  told  them  to 
look  to  God  for  themselves.  She  bade  them  leave  off  saint- 
worship,  and  cling  to  Jesus  as  their  only  Mediator.  Peace 
followed  her  steps,  and  much  good  she  would  have  done, 
but  my  Padre  interfered,  peremptorily  ordered  all  good 
Papists  to  shun  her  as  they  would  an  incarnate  demon,  and 
frightened  many  into  submission  with  his  marvelous  tales 
and  threats  of  purgatory.  I  said  to  myself,  if  there  be  truth 
in  God  and  religion,  this  Mary  walketh  in  the  right  path,  for 
like  an  angel  of  mercy  and  light  she  ever  seems.  She  was 
the  hope,  the  joy,  the  blessing  of  all  who  knew  her.  Oh  !  I 
will  come  to  you,  Mary,  and  learn  of  you,  and  die  near,  that 
you  may  be  with  me  in  the  hour  of  rest.” 

Inez  sank  on  the  ground,  and  burying  her  face  in  her 
arms,  rocked  herself  to  and  fro.  Dr.  Bryant  had  listened  to 
her  rambling,  incoherent  language,  like  one  in  a  dream,  till  the 
name  of  Mary  passed  her  lips,  and  then  his  head  sank  upon 
his  chest,  and  he  groaned  in  the  anguish  of  his  tortured  spirit. 

Inez  held  in  one  hand  the  small  Bible  given  at  parting; 
his  eye  fell  upon  it,  and  he  stepped  nearer  to  her : 

“  Inez,  the  Mary  you  have  loved  rests  no  longer  on  earth. 
She  has  passed  away,  and  dwells  in  heaven.  She  was  true 
to  God,  and  his  holy  law,  and  great  is  her  reward.  Scarce 
a  week  since  I  laid  her  in  her  quiet  grave,  yet  not  there 
either,  but  yielded  her  up  to  the  arms  of  God  1 99 

He  paused,  for  his  deep  tone  faltered.  Inez  rose  quickly 
to  her  feet  as  he  spoke,  and  gazed  vacantly  on  his  face. 

“  Mary  gone  forever  !  Mary  in  heaven  !  Shall  I  never 
again  see  her,  sweet  angel  of  truth  and  purity,  with  her  soft 
blue  eyes,  so  full  of  holy  love  and  gentleness  ?  Oh,  Mary, 
thou  art  blessed  !  thou  art  at  rest  1  When  shall  I,  too,  find 
eternal  rest  ?  Ere  long,  Mary,  I,  too,  will  sleep  the  last, 
unbroken,  dreamless  sleep  !  ” 

Dr.  Bryant  laid  his  hand  on  the  sacred  volume,  and  would 


/NEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO .  i8l 

have  drawn  it  from  her  clasp  ;  but  tightening  her  hold*  she 
shook  her  head,  and  mournfully  exclaimed : 

“  No,  no  ;  it  is  mine  !  When  I  die,  it  shall  be  my  pillow ; 
while  I  live,  it  rests  near  my  heart,  and  in  the  churchyard 
I  will  not  let  it  go.  You  have  no  right  to  claim  it :  you 
have  not  loved  her  as  I  have  done.  She  loved  you,  yet  you 
heeded  not  the  jewel  that  might  have,  even  now,  been  your 
own  !  ” 

“  Inez,  I  have  loved — I  do  love  her,  as  none  other  can  1 
Too  late  I  found  my  love  returned.  Had  God  spared  her 
to  me,  she  would  have  been  my  wife.  Oh,  Mary,  Mary ! 
my  own  cherished  one  !  May  thy  spirit  hover  round  me 
now,  as  in  life  thou  wert  my  guardian  angel !  Inez,  I,  too, 
have  suffered,  and  severely.  I  have  little  to  anticipate  in 
life,  yet  I  am  not  desponding  as  you ;  my  faith  in  God  and 
his  unchanging  goodness  is  unshaken.  Let  us  both  so  live 
that  we  may  join  my  Mary  in  glory.” 

Inez  answered  not,  but  passed  her  hand  wearily  across 
her  brow. 

“  Inez,  which  will  you  do  ?  retain  your  disguise,  and  go 
with  me,  or  return  to  your  old  home  ?  I  am  not  going  to 
Austin,  but  to  Goliad,  to  join  the  Texans  there  ;  will  you  ac¬ 
company  me,  and  claim  the  protection  of  our  banner  ?  All 
that  a  brother  could,  I  will  gladly  do ;  with  me  you  are  safe, 
at  least  for  a  time ;  and  when  the  storm  of  war  has  passed, 
I  doubt  not  your  home  will  again  be  happy.” 

“  I  know  you,  Dr.  Bryant,  and  I  know  that  you  are  true  to 
God,  and  keep  his  law.  I  will  go  with  you  to  Goliad,  and 
there  we  will  decide  what  I  must  do.  Oh  !  I  am  weary  and 
sick  at  heart,  and  not  long  will  I  burden  you.” 

She  stooped,  and  picking  up  the  hat,  replaced  it  on  her 
head,  and  turned  toward  her  horse. 

Frank  kindly  took  her  hand. 

“  Inez,  do  not  despond.  I  trust  all  may  yet  be  well  with 
you,  and  rest  assured  it  gives  me  heartfelt  pleasure  to  be  en¬ 
abled  to  render  you  a  service,  and  take  you  to  a  place  of 
safety.  But  your  hand  is  hot — burning  :  it  is  feverish  ex¬ 
citement  from  which  you  suffer.  When  we  have  reached  Go¬ 
liad,  and  you  can  rest,  I  doubt  not  your  strength  and  spirits 
will  return ;  meantime  take  one  of  my  pistols,  it  is  loaded, 
and,  in  case  of  danger,  will  render  good  service.” 


182 


INEZ :  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 


She  took  the  proffered  weapon,  and  having  securcu  it  iu 
the  girdle,  turned  to  mount  her  horse.  Frank  assisted  in 
arranging  the  accouterments,  and,  springing  upon  his  own 
recruited  steed,  they  turned  their  faces  southward. 


CHAPTER  XXX, 

“  Our  bosoms  well  bare  to  the  glorious  strife, 
And  our  oath  is  recorded  on  high, 

To  prevail  in  the  cause  that  is  dearer  than  life, 
Or  crushed  in  its  ruins  to  die. 


And  leaving  in  battle  no  blot  on  his  name, 

Look  proudly  to  heaven,  from  the  death-bed  of  fame.” 

Campbell. 

A  bloody  seal  was  set  upon  thee,  oh  !  Goliad.  A  gory 
banner  bound  around  thy  name ;  and  centuries  shall  slowly 
roll  ere  thou  art  blotted  from  the  memory  of  man.  The 
annals  of  the  dim  and  darkened  past  afford  no  parallel  for 
the  inhuman  deed,  so  calmly,  so  deliberately  committed 
within  thy  precincts ;  and  the  demon  perpetrator  escaped 
unpunished  1  A  perfect  appreciation  of  the  spirit  of  the 
text — “  Vengeance  is  mine,  saith  the  Lord;  I  will  repay,” 
alone  can  sanction  the  apathy  manifested  by  one  to  whom 
the  world  looked  as  the  avenger  of  his  murdered  country¬ 
men. 

Rumors  of  the  fall  of  the  Alamo,  the  overwhelming  force 
of  Santa  Anna,  and  his  own  imminent  danger,  had  reached 
Colonel  Fanning.  In  vain  he  entreated  reinforcements, 
in  vain  urged  the  risk  hourly  incurred.  The  Texan  coun¬ 
cils  bade  him  save  himself  by  flight.  “  Retreat,  fly  from 
the  post  committed  to  my  keeping  I  ”  The  words  sounded 
like  a  knell  on  the  ear  of  the  noble  man  to  whom  they 
were  addressed.  He  groaned  in  the  anguish  of  his  spirit, 
“  I  will  not  leave  this  fortress — Travis  fell  defending  with 
his  latest  breath  the  Alamo  !  Oh,  Crocket  l  Bowie !  can  I 
do  better  than  follow  thy  example,  and  give  mv  life  in  this 
true  cause  ?  " 


INEZ :  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO.  183 

An  untimely  death — the  separation  and  misery  of  his  dar¬ 
ling  family,  weighed  not  an  atom  !  “  Patria  infelici  fidelis  ! ” 

was  ever  his  motto,  and  unfaltering  was  his  own  step.  There 
came  a  messenger  from  headquarters — “  Abandon  Goliad, 
and  retreat  I  ” 

“  Colonel,  you  will  not  sound  a  retreat  ?  ”  and  Dr.  Bryant 
laid  his  hand  upon  his  commander’s  arm. 

“  My  God  1  it  is  a  fearful  thing  to  decide  the  destinies  of 
four  hundred  brave  men  1  Bryant,  if  we  remain  it  is  certain 
death — the  tragedy  of  San  Antonio  will  be  reacted  in  our 
case ! 99 

“  Colonel,  you  must  remember  the  old  saw — ‘  He  that 
fights  and  runs  away,  lives  to  fight  another  day,’ 97  said  a  time* 
worn  ranger,  settling  his  collar  with  perfect  nonchalance. 

“  Why,  Furgeson,  do  you  counsel  flight  ?  My  brave  com¬ 
rade,  bethink  yourself  l  r 

“  Well,  Colonel,  it  is  something  strange  for  me  to  say  run ; 
but  when  I  do  say  it,  I  am  in  earnest.  The  most  hot-headed 
fellow  in  our  company  dare  not  say  I  lack  courage  :  you 
know  as  well  as  I  do  what  they  call  me — ‘  Bulldog  Furgeson,’ 
but  who  feels  like  fighting  the  grand  devil  himself,  and  his 
legion  of  imps  to  boot  ?  I  am  a  lone  man  and  have  nothing 
in  particular  to  live  for,  it’s  true ;  but  it  is  some  object 
with  me  to  do  the  most  service  I  can  for  our  Lone  blessed 
Star !  I  should  like  a  game  with  old  ‘  Santy  ’  in  a  clear  ring, 
and  fair  play ;  but  I  am  thinking  we  had  best  take  French 
leave  of  this  place,  and  join  the  main  body  where  we  can 
fight  with  some  chance  ahead.  Now  that’s  my  opinion, 
but  if  you  don’t  believe  that  doctrine,  and  want  to  take  the 
‘old  bull  right  by  the  horns,’  I  say  let’s  at  him.” 

A  smile  passed  over  the  face  of  his  commander. 

“  Thank  you,  Furgeson,  and  rest  assured  I  shall  not  doubt 
your  stanch  support  in  time  of  need.” 

Again  the  broad  brow  contracted,  and,  linking  his  arm  in 
that  of  Dr.  Bryant,  he  paced  to  and  fro,  engrossed  in  earnest, 
anxious  thought.  Pausing  at  length,  he  pointed  to  his  troops, 
awaiting  in  silence  his  commands. 

“  Bryant,  at  least  half  those  brave  fellows  have  wives  and 
children,  and  bright  homes,  beckoning  them  away,  yet  see 
them  calmly  trust  to  me  in  this  trying  hour.  Should  my 
order  go  forth  to  man  the  fort,  and  meet  the  worst,  I  know 


184 


INEZ :  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


full  well  not  a  murmur  would  be  heard.  Still  it  is  equally 
certain  that,  if  we  brave  the  conflict,  not  one  of  us  shall 
survive  to  tell  the  tale.  What  am  I  to  do  ?  Make  this  a 
second  Thermopylae  ?  ” 

“  Peculiarly  painful,  I  know  full  well,  is  the  situation  in 
which  you  are  placed.  Yet  one  strong  argument  remains  to 
be  urged.  Colonel,  if  we  desert  Goliad,  and  sound  a  re¬ 
treat,  we  cannot  escape.  The  force  of  the  enemy  is  too 
powerful,  their  movements  too  rapid,  to  allow  us  to  retire  to 
a  place  of  safety  without  a  desperate  encounter.  Is  it  not 
better  policy  to  remain  here,  and  meet  the  shock  ?  ” 

“  If  we  fight  at  all  it  must  be  at  fearful  odds  ;  four  hun¬ 
dred  to  six  thousand !  Yet,  should  I  follow  the  dictates  of 
my  own  heart,  I  would  not  give  one  inch! — no,  not  one! 
Dearly  they  should  buy  the  ground  on  which  I  stand  !  ” 

“  Colonel,  shall  we  not  meet  them  on  this  spot  and  lay 
down  our  lives,  as  did  our  brethren  of  the  Alamo  ?  ” 

“  No,  by  Jove  !  I  shall  have  to  leave,  whether  I  will  or 
not !  ”  And  crumpling  the  note  of  orders,  he  tossed  it  to 
the  ground,  and  pressed  it  with  his  heel. 

He  stepped  forth,  and  drawing  his  military  cap  about  his 
eyes,  folded  his  arms  upon  his  broad  chest,  and  addressed 
his  troops : 

“  Comrades !  Retreat  is  no  test  of  an  army’s  bravery, 
neither  the  courage  of  its  commander.  In  every  age  and 
nation,  circumstances  have  occurred  in  which  the  cause  of 
liberty,  or  the  general  welfare  of  the  state,  has  been  pro¬ 
moted  by  timely  flight  rather  than  desperate  engagements. 
‘  The  Swamp  Fox  ’  often  retired  to  his  island  of  refuge,  safe 
from  invading  bands — the  daring  Sumter  was  forced  at  times 
to  retreat ;  and  even  our  great  Washington  fled  from  supe¬ 
rior  forces,  and  waited  till  a  more  convenient  season.  Fellow- 
soldiers  :  there  is  one  of  two  steps  to  be  immediately  taken. 
We  will  stand  to  our  post,  and  fall  to  a  man,  like  Travis 
and  his  noble  band,  and  our  names  will  go  down  to  posterity 
as  did  the  Spartans  of  old, 

*  Wreathed  with  honor,  and  immortal  fame  ;  ’ 

or  else  we  set  out  at  once  for  headquarters,  consolidate  our 
forces,  and  march  united  to  oppose  Santa  Anna. 


INEZ  •  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 


“  Comrades,  which  will  ye  do  ?  ” 

No  sound  was  heard  along  the  ranks,  each  bent  his  head 
and  communed  with  his  own  spirit ;  and  the  image  of  their 
distant,  yet  cherished  homes,  rose  up  and  murmured — “  Re¬ 
member  thy  weeping  wife  and  thy  fair-browed  boy ;  who  will 
guard  them  when  thou  art  gone  ?  ” 

The  eagle  eye  of  their  brave  leader  was  piercingly  bent 
on  the  mute  assemblage ;  the  momentary  gleam  of  hope  that 
lighted  his  noble  countenance  faded  away.  There  came  a 
faint  sound  of  rising  voices — it  swelled  louder,  and  louder 
still : 

“  God  bless  our  noble  Colonel !  our  brave  Fanning  !  With 
him  is  the  issue.  Say  but  the  word,  and  we  will  follow !  ” 

“  Bryant,  I  cannot  sign  their  death-warrant !  ”  he  said  in 
a  low,  subdued  tone,  sinking  his  head  upon  his  breast.  He 
lifted  himself  up,  and  raising  his  voice,  calmly  replied : 

“  Had  I  not  received  orders  to  retreat,  and  if  I  were  not 
fully  aware  that  lingering  here  insured  our  total  destruction, 
I  should  scorn  to  turn  my  back  upon  Goliad  !  Oh  !  gladly 
I  would  die  in  its  defense ;  but  your  fate  is  too  entirely  in 
my  hands  to  admit  of  following  my  individual  wishes  !  None 
know  the  pang  it  causes  me  to  sound  a  6  Retreat/  yet  it  may 
be,  that  the  success  of  our  cause  demands  it  at  my  hands, 
and  therefore  I  say,  ‘  Retreat,  comrades  !  ’ — at  dawn  to¬ 
morrow,  we  move  from  Goliad.” 

The  decree  went  forth,  and  the  ensuing  day  saw  the 
doomed  band  moving  eastward  toward  headquarters  they 
were  destined  never  to  reach. 

On  arriving  at  Goliad,  Dr.  Bryant  had  immediately  en¬ 
listed,  after  placing  Inez  in  safety  at  the  house  of  an  aged 
Senora  of  her  nation  ;  and  no  sooner  was  it  decided  to  leave 
the  town  the  following  day  than  he  sought  his  Spanish  friend. 

She  was  sitting  alone  when  he  entered,  and  quickly  ris¬ 
ing,  placed  a  seat  for  him. 

“  Thank  you,  Inez,  I  have  only  a  moment  to  remain — I 
come  to  say  good-by.” 

“  Which  way  do  your  people  go  now  ?  ”  she  hoarsely 
asked. 

“  Santa  Anna  is  marching  with  overwhelming  forces  to¬ 
ward  us,  and  Colonel  Fanning  thinks  it  advisable  to  retire 
to  headquarters-  We  set  out  at  dawn  to-morrow.” 


i86 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 


“  You  cannot  escape  by  flight:  it  were  better  to  remain 
here.  I  tell  you  now,  if  you  leave  Goliad,  you  will  be  cut 
off  to  a  man.” 

“  Inez,  my  own  feelings  would  strongly  incline  me  to 
follow  your  advice,  but  it  has  been  decided  otherwise  l  ” 

“  Then,  if  you  must  go,  I  go  with  you !  ” 

“  Impossible,  Inez,  impossible  I  you  know  not  what  you 
say !  For  you  to  venture  from  this  place  under  existing 
circumstances,  beset  as  we  are  on  every  hand  with  dangers 
seen  and  unseen,  would  be  the  height  of  madness.” 

“  I  know  not  fear !  of  that  you  must  have  been  convinced 
long  ere  this.  Danger  cannot  intimidate  me  ;  what  you 
meet  and  suffer,  that  will  I  encounter.” 

“  Bethink  yourself,  Inez  !  What  can  you  hope  to  accom¬ 
plish  by  this  strange  step  ?  You  have  nothing  to  fear 
here  from  your  own  nation :  what  can  you  gain  by  seeking 
a  home  among  my  people?  Strange,  mysterious  being!  I 
wish  for  your  own  sake  you  were  timid — that  fear  might 
strengthen  your  sense  of  prudence !  ” 

Inez  had  bent  her  head  while  he  spoke,  as  in  humiliation, 
now  she  lifted  herself  and  said,  in  a  low,  determined  tone : 

“  I  am  alone  in  the  wide  world,  and  I  have  but  one  hope, 
but  one  pleasure ;  to  be  with  you  while  life  remains,  and  to 
die  near,  that  you  may  close  my  eyes  and  lay  me  down  to 
rest.”  She  paused  a  moment,  and  then  clasping  her  hands, 
approached  him,  and  continued  in  a  more  passionate  tone  : 

“  Oh,  if  you  knew  how  I  have  loved  you,  you  could  not 
look  down  so  coldly,  so  calmly  upon  me !  you  could  not 
refuse  the  favor  I  ask  !  Oh,  Dr.  Bryant,  do  not  scorn  me 
for  my  love ! — ’tis  not  a  common  love  ;  for  it  I  have  lost 
every  earthly  comfort  and  blessing  ;  for  this  struggled  and 
toiled,  and  braved  numberless  dangers.  I  have  loved  you 
better  than  everything  beside  !  Turn  not  from  me,  and 
think  contemptuously  of  the  worship  given  unsought !  If 
you  cannot  love  me,  do  not,  oh,  do  not  despise  me !  Let 
me  a  little  while  longer  be  with  you,  and  see  you ;  I  will  not 
trouble  or  incommode  any  one — do  not  leave  me.  Oh,  Dr. 
Bryant,  do  not  leave  me  !  ” 

The  large  black  eyes  were  raised  entreatingly  to  his,  and  an 
expression  of  the  keenest  anguish  rested  on  her  colorless, 
yet  beautiful  face. 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO .  187 

Sadly  he  regarded  her  as  she  hurried  on :  no  glance  of 
scorn  rested  even  for  a  moment  upon  her.  Yet  a  stern 
sorrow  settled  on  his  broad  brow,  and  around  the  firmly 
Compressed  lips. 

“  Inez,  I  do  not,  cannot  love  you,  other  than  as  the  kind 
friend  of  other  days.  I  have  never  loved  but  one — I  never 
shall.  Mary,  my  own  angel  Mary,  ever  rests  in  my  heart. 
I  cannot  forget  her — I  can  never  love  another.  I  do  not 
even  thank  you  for  your  love,  for  your  avowal  gives  me  in¬ 
expressible  pain !  I  have  suspected  this,  Inez,  for  long, 
and  your  own  heart  will  tell  you  I  gave  no  ground  to  hope 
that  I  could  return  your  affection.  I  have  striven  to  treat 
you  like  a  sister  of  late,  yet  this  painful  hour  has  not  been 
averted.  Equally  painful  to  both.  Inez,  your  own  words 
make  it  more  than  ever  necessary  that  we  should  part  for¬ 
ever.  I  cannot  return  your  love — I  will  not  encourage  it. 
You  must,  as  soon  as  safety  allows,  return  to  your  old  home. 
Inez,  do  not  cherish  your  affection  for  me,  it  can  only  bring 
pain  and  remorse ;  forget  me,  and  remember  that  you  have 
imperative  duties  of  your  own  to  perform.  This  is  your 
darkest  hour,  and  believe  me,  in  time  you  will  be  happy, 
and  a  blessing  to  your  people.  Remember  Mary’s  words, 
and  her  parting  gift,  and  I  pray  God  that  we  may  so  live 
that  we  shall  all  meet  in  a  happier  home/’ 

“  Then  I  shall  never  see  you  again  ?  ”  she  said,  in  a  calm 
and  unfaltering  voice. 

“  For  your  sake,  Inez,  it  is  best  that  we  should  not  meet 
again.  If  I  survive  this  war  I  go  to  Europe,  and  you  will 
probably  never  see  me  more.  Inez,  I  pain  you — forgive 
me.  Your  own  good  requires  this  candor  on  my  part.” 

x\n  ashy  paleness  overspread  the  cheek  and  brow  of  his 
companion  as  he  spoke,  and  the  small  hands  clutched  each 
other  tightly,  yet  no  words  passed  the  quivering  lips. 

“  Good-by,  Inez  !  my  kind  and  valued  friend,  good-by !  ” 
He  held  out  his  hand.  She  raised  her  head,  and  gazed 
into  the  sad  yet  noble  face  of  the  man  she  had  loved  so  long. 
She  clasped  his  hand  between  both  hers,  and  a  moan  of 
bitter  anguish  escaped  the  lips. 

“  My  love  will  follow  you  forever !  A  woman  of  my 
nature  cannot  forget.  I  shall  sink  to  eternal  rest  with  your 
name  on  my  lips — your  image  in  my  heai t.  Yet  I  would 


i88 


(NEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALA  Mu. 


not  keep  you  here — go,  and  may  your  God  ever  bless  you, 
and — and — may  you  at  last  meet  your  Mary,  if  there  be  a 
heaven  !  We  part  now,  for  you  have  said  it ;  good-by,  and 
sometimes,  when  all  is  joy  and  gladness  to  you,  think  a 
moment  on  Inez  !  the  cursed,  the  miserable  Inez  !  sitting  in 
bitter  darkness  by  her  lonely  hearth  !  Good-by !  ”  She 
pressed  her  lips  to  his  hand,  and  without  a  tear,  shrouded 
her  face  jn  her  mantilla  and  turned  away. 

“  God  bless  you,  Inez,  and  keep  you  from  all  harm ! 99 
and  Dr.  Bryant  left  the  house,  and  returned  to  his  com- 
mander. 


Colonel  Fanning  had  led  his  troops  but  a  few  miles  when 
the  vanguard  halted,  and  some  excitement  was  manifested. 
Spurring  forward,  he  inquired  the  cause  of  delay. 

“  Why,  Colonel,  if  we  ain’t  4  out  of  the  frying-pan  into  the 
fire,’  my  name  is  not  Will  Furgeson.  Look  yonder,  Colonel, 
it  takes  older  and  weaker  eyes  than  mine  to  say  them  ain’t 
Santy  Anna’s  imps  marching  down  upon  us  thick  as  bees 
just  swarmed,  too !  ” 

44  You  are  right,  Furgeson  ;  it  is  the  entire  Mexican  force ! 
let  us  form  at  once  and  meet  them  1  ” 

Quick  and  clearly  his  orders  rung  out,  and  his  little  band, 
compact  and  firm,  waited  in  silence  the  result.  With  an 
exulting  shout  the  Mexicans  charged.  Desperately  the 
doomed  Texans  fought,  heaping  up  the  slain  at  every  step. 
The  wily  Santa  Anna  changed  his  tactics.  There  came  a 
momentary  cessation  as  the  crowding  thousands  were  furi¬ 
ously  driven  back.  And,  seizing  the  opportunity,  he  spurred 
forward,  offered  honorable  terms,  and  besought  Fanning  to 
surrender  and  save  the  lives  of  his  brave  followers. 

“We  will  only  surrender  on  condition  that  every  privilege 
of  prisoners  of  war  be  guaranteed  to  us,”  replied  Colonel 
Fanning. 

44  I,  Santa  Anna,  commander-in-chief  of  the  Mexican 
forces,  do  most  solemnly  pledge  my  word,  that  all  the  priv¬ 
ileges  consistent  with  your  situation  as  prisoners  of  war, 
shall  be  extended  to  yourself  and  men.  And  hereby  swear, 
that  on  these  conditions  you  may  lay  down  your  arms  in 
safety,  without  further  molestation  on  our  part.” 


INEZ ;  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


189 

Is  there  one  of  my  readers  who  for  a  moment  would 
attach  blame  to  the  noble  Fanning  ?  The  lives  of  his  men 
were  of  far  more  importance  to  him  than  the  renown  of 
perishing,  like  Travis,  in  a  desperate  struggle.  With  the 
latter  there  was  no  alternative,  for  the  cry  of  even  seven 
exhausted  men  for  “  quarter  ”  was  disregarded,  and  the 
garrison  fell  to  a  man.  But  honorable  terms  were  offered 
Fanning :  he  remembered  his  men,  and  surrendered.  Santa 
Anna  1  can  there  be  pardon  for  such  a  hardened  wretch  as 
you  ?  Does  not  sleep  fly  your  pillow  ?  In  the  silent  watches 
of  the  night,  do  not  the  specter  forms  of  your  victims  cluster 
about  your  couch,  and  the  shambles  of  Goliad  rise  before 
you  ?  Can  you  find  rest  from  the  echoing  shrieks  of 
murdered  thousands,  or  shut  your  eyes  and  fail  to  perceive 
'die  mangled  forms  stiffening  in  death,  and  weltering  in  gore  ? 
If  you  are  human,  which  I  much  doubt,  your  blackened 
soul  will  be  tortured  with  unavailing  remorse,  till  Death 
doses  your  career  on  earth,  and  you  are  borne  to  the 
tribunal  of  Almighty  God,  there  to  receive  your  reward.  .  .  . 

Night  found  the  Texans  again  in  Goliad,  and  they  sought 
sleep  secure  from  evil ;  for  had  not  Santa  Anna’s  word  been 
given  that  further  molestation  would  not  be  allowed  ?  and 
they  believed  l  Soundly  they  slept,  and  dreamed  of  far-off 
homes  and  fireside  joys. 

u  That  bright  dream  was  their  last ! M 

Sunrise  came,  and  they  were  drawn  out  upon  the  Plaza. 
Their  leader  was  retained  in  custody,  and,  unsuspicious  of 
harm,  they  each  maintained  their  position.  Dr.  Bryant 
raised  his  eyes — they  rested  but  a  moment  on  Santa  Anna’s 
face.  Turning  quickly,  he  shouted  aloud, 

"  Turn,  comrades,  let  us  not  be  shot  in  the  back  !  ” 

Another  moment  the  signal  was  given,  and  a  deadly  fire 
poured  upon  four  hundred  unresisting  prisoners  of  war,  to 
whom  honorable  conditions  had  been  granted  by  the  brave 
and  noble  generalissimo  of  the  Mexican  forces. 

Not  one  of  many  noble  forms  was  spared.  Dr.  Bryant 
sank  without  a  struggle  to  the  earth ;  and  his  spirit,  released 
from  sorrowing  mortality,  sprung  up  to  meet  his  Mary  and 
his  God  l 

The  deed  was  done ;  and  Santa  Anna,  the  mighty  chief 


igo 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


who  mowed  down  four  hundred  unarmed  men,  was  immor- 
talized !  Fear  not,  brave  heart,  that  posterity  will  forget 
thee  1  Rest  assured  that  the  lapse  of  time  cannot  obliter¬ 
ate  the  memory  of  thy  mighty  deeds  1 

Fanning  survived  but  a  few  hours,  and  then  a  well-aimed 
ball  laid  low  forever  his  noble  head.  Who  among  us  can 
calmly  remember  that  his  body  was  denied  a  burial  ?  Oh, 
thou  martyr  leader  of  a  martyr  band,  we  cherish  thy  memory  1 
dear  to  the  heart  of  every  Texan,  every  American,  every 
soldier,  and  every  patriot.  Peace  to  thee,  noble  Fanning! 
and  may  the  purest  joys  of  heaven  be  yours  in  that  eternity 
to  which  we  all  are  hastening. 


It  was  noon  I  Still  and  cold  lay  the  four  hundred  forms 
upon  the  Plaza,  Even  as  they  sank,  so  they  slept.  No 
disturbing  hand  had  misplaced  one  stiffened  member.  The 
silence  of  death  reigned  around  the  murdered  band.  A 
muffled  figure  swiftly  stole  down  the  now  deserted  streets, 
and  hurrying  to  the  Plaza,  paused  and  gazed  on  the  ruin 
and  wreck  that  surrounded  her.  Pools  of  blood  were  yet 
standing,  and  the  earth  was  damp  with  gore.  One  by  one 
Inez  turned  the  motionless  forms,  still  the  face  she  sought 
was  not  to  be  found.  She  had  almost  concluded  her  search, 
when  her  eye  fell  on  a  prostrate  form,  closely  wrapt  in  a 
long  black  cloak ;  she  knelt  and  gazed  into  the  upturned 
face,  and  a  low  cry  of  bitter  anguish  welled  up  and  passed 
her  colorless  lips.  Gently  she  lifted  the  cloak,  clasped  by 
one  icy  hand :  the  ball  had  pierced  his  side,  and  entered  the 
heart.  So  instantaneous  had  been  his  death  that  not  a  fea¬ 
ture  was  convulsed.  The  dark  clustering  hair  was  borne 
back  from  the  broad  white  brow,  the  eyes  closed  as  in  deep 
sleep,  the  finely-cut  lips  just  parted.  Pallid  was  the  cheek, 
yet  calm  and  noble  beyond  degree  was  the  marble  face  on 
which  Inez  gazed.  She  caught  the  cold  hand  to  her  lips, 
and  laid  her  cheek  near  his  mouth,  that  she  might  know  and 
realize  that  his  spirit  had  indeed  joined  Mary’s  in  the  “  land 
of  rest.”  The  icy  touch  extinguished  every  gleam  of  hope, 
and  calmly  she  drew  the  cloak  over  the  loved  face,  conceal¬ 
ing  every  feature,  then  dropped  her  handkerchief  upon  the 


INEZ;  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 


I9I 

covered  head,  and  drawing  her  mantilla  like  a  shroud  about 
her,  went  her  way  to  wait  for  night  and  darkness. 

Stretched  on  a  couch  in  the  home  of  the  kind-hearted 
Senora  who  had  received  her,  Inez  noted  the  moments  and 
hours  as  they  passed.  An  eternity  seemed  comprised  in  the 
time  which  elapsed  from  noon  till  dusk.  Again  and  again 
she  raised  her  bowed  head,  and  looked  out  on  the  slowly 
sinking  sun.  It  passed  at  length  beyond  her  vision.  She 
rose  and  sought  her  friend,  an  aged  dame,  whom  God  had 
gifted  with  a  gentle  heart,  keenly  alive  to  the  grief  and  suf¬ 
ferings  of  another. 

“  Well,  Senorita  Inez,  what  will  you  have  ?  ” 

“  I  have  a  great  favor  to  ask,  yet  it  is  one  I  doubt  not 
will  be  granted.  Senora,  among  yonder  slain  is  one  who  in 
life  was  ever  kind  to  me  and  to  our  people.  Since  morning 
he  has  lain  in  his  own  blood  !  To-morrow  will  see  them 
thrown  into  heaps,  and  left  with  scarce  sod  enough  to  cover  1 
I  cannot,  will  not  see  him  buried  so  !  I  myself  will  lay  him 
down  to  rest,  if  Santa  Anna  claims  my  life  for  it  to-morrow  I 
I  have  caused  a  grave  to  be  dug  in  a  quiet  spot,  but  I  can¬ 
not  bear  him  to  it  unassisted.  My  strength  is  gone — I  am 
well-nigh  spent :  will  you  help  me  to-night  ?  They  will  not 
miss  him  to-morrow,  and  none  will  know  till  all  is  at  rest  I 
Senora,  will  you  come  with  me  ?  99 

“  Tell  me  first,  Inez,  if  it  is  he  who  brought  you  here; 
who  acted  so  nobly  to  me,  and  bade  adieu  to  you  but  two 
days  since  ?  ” 

“  Yes,  the  same  !  will  you  refuse  to  assist  me  now  ?  ” 

“  No,  by  our  blessed  Virgin !  I  will  do  all  an  old  woman 
like  me  can  do;  yet  united,  Inez,  we  shall  be  strong.” 

Wrapping  their  mantillas  about  them,  they  noiselessly  pro¬ 
ceeded  to  the  Plaza.  Darkness  had  closed  in,  and  happily 
they  met  not  even  a  straggling  soldier,  for  all,  with  instinctive 
dread,  shunned  the  horrid  scene.  They  paused  as  Senora 
Berara  stumbled  over  a  dead  body,  and  well-nigh  slipped  in 
blood : 

“  Jesu  Maria  !  my  very  bones  ache  with  horror !  this  is 
no  place  for  me.  Senorita,  how  will  you  know  the  body  ? 
Oh  1  let  us  make  haste  to  leave  here  l  ” 

“  Hush  1  do  you  see  a  white  spot  gleaming  yonder  ?  Nay, 
don't  clutch  my  arm,  it  is  only  my  handerchief.  I  laid  it 


192 


INEZ :  A  TALE  OS  THE  ALAMO. 


there  to  mark  the  place.  Come  on,  step  lightly,  or  you  will 
press  the  dead.” 

With  some  difficulty  they  made  their  way  along  the  damp, 
slippery  ground,  now  and  then  catching  at  each  other  for 
support  Inez  paused  on  reaching  her  mark,  and  bent  down 
for  several  moments ;  then  raising  herself  she  whispered : 

“  Senora,  I  have  wrapped  his  cloak  tightly  about  him* 
lift  the  corners  near  his  feet,  while  I  carry  his  head.  Be 
careful,  lift  gently,  and  do  not  let  the  cloak  slip.” 

Slowly  they  lifted  the  motionless  form,  and  steadily  bore 
it  away :  Inez  taking  the  lead,  and  stepping  cautiously. 
She  left  the  Plaza  and  principal  streets,  and  turned  toward 
a  broad  desolate  waste,  stretching  away  from  the  town,  and 
bare,  save  a  few  gnarled  oaks  that  moaned  in  the  March 
wind.  The  moon  rose  when  they  had  proceeded  some  dis¬ 
tance  beyond  the  last  house,  and  Inez  paused  suddenly,  and 
looked  anxiously  about  her. 

“  Sacra  Dio !  I  trust  you  have  not  lost  your  way !  Holy 
Mother,  preserve  us  if  we  have  gone  wrong.” 

“  I  knew  we  must  be  near  the  place :  it  is  under  yonder 
tree  ;  fear  nothing  Senora,  come  on  :  ”  and  a  few  more  steps 
brought  them  to  the  designated  spot. 

A  shallow  excavation  had  been  made,  sufficient  to  admit 
with  ease  the  body  of  a  full-grown  man ;  and  on  its  margin 
they  softly  laid  their  burden  down.  Every  object  shone  in 
the  clear  moonlight,  and  stranger  scene  never  moon  shone 
upon.  A  dreary  waste  stretched  away  in  the  distance,  and 
sighingly  the  wind  swept  over  it.  Inez  knelt  beside  the 
grave,  her  wan  yet  still  beautiful  features  convulsed  with  the 
secret  agony  of  her  tortured  soul ;  the  long  raven  hair  float¬ 
ing  like  a  black  veil  around  the  wasted  form.  Just  before 
her  stood  the  old  woman,  weird-like,  her  wrinkled,  swarthy 
face  exposed  to  full  view,  while  the  silver  hair,  unbound  by 
her  exertion,  streamed  in  the  night  breeze.  Loosely  her 
clothes  hung  about  her,  and  the  thin,  bony  hands  were 
clasped  tightly  as  she  bent  forward  and  gazed  on  the  marble 
face  of  the  dead.  Wonder,  awe,  fear,  pity,  all  strangely 
blended  in  her  dark  countenance. 

Inez  groaned,  and  rocked  herself  to  and  fro,  as  if  crushed 
in  body  and  spirit.  She  could  not  lay  him  to  rest  forever 
without  the  bitterest  anguish,  for  in  life  she  had  worshiped 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO.  193 

him,  and  in  death  her  heart  clung  to  the  loved  form.  Again 
and  again  she  kissed  the  cold  hand  she  held. 

“  Senorita,  we  must  make  haste  to  lay  him  in,  and  cover 
him  closely.  Don’t  waste  time  weeping  now ;  you  cannot 
give  him  life  again.  Have  done,  Senorita  Inez,  and  let  us 
finish  our  work.” 

“  I  am  not  weeping,  Senora  !  I  have  not  shed  a  single 
tear;  yet  be  patient:  surely  there  is  yet  time.” 

Inez  straightened  the  cloak  in  which  Frank  Bryant  was 
shrouded,  placed  the  hands  calmly  by  his  side,  and  softly 
smoothed  the  dark  hair  on  his  high  and  noble  brow.  She 
passionately  kissed  the  cold  lips  once,  then  covered  forever 
the  loved,  loved  features,  and  they  carefully  lowered  the  still 
form  into  its  last  resting-place. 

They  stood  up,  and  the  old  dame  pointed  to  the  earth 
piled  on  either  side.  Inez  shuddered  and  closed  her  eyes 
a  moment,  as  if  unequal  to  the  task. 

Her  companion  stooped,  and  was  in  the  act  of  tossing  for- 
ward  a  mass  of  earth  ;  but  Inez  interposed  :  “  Senora,  softly  ! 
I  will  do  this  :  remember  there  is  no  coffin.” 

Fearfully  calm  was  her  tone  as  she  slowly  pushed  in  the 
earth.  There  was  no  hollow  echo,  such  as  ofttimes  rends 
the  heart  of  the  mourner,  but  a  heavy,  dull  sound  of  earth 
crushing  earth.  Gradually  she  filled  the  opening  even  with 
the  surface,  then  carefully  scattered  the  remaining  sod. 

“  I  will  not  raise  a  mound,  for  they  would  tear  him  up, 
should  they  know  where  I  have  laid  him.”  Inez  walked 
away,  and  gathering  a  quantity  of  brown,  shriveled  leaves, 
and  also  as  much  grass  as  she  could  draw  from  the  short 
bunches,  sprinkled  them  on  the  grave  and  along  the  fresh 
earth. 

“  Think  you,  Senora,  they  will  find  him  here  ?  ” 

“  No,  no,  Senorita !  none  will  know  that  we  have  buried 
him.  But  the  night  is  already  far  gone,  why  do  you  linger  ?  ” 

For  a  moment  longer  Inez  gazed  down  upon  the  new- 
made  grave  :  “  But  a  few  more  hours,  and  I  shall  sleep  here 
by  your  side  ;  farewell  till  then.” 

She  turned  away,  and  silently  they  retraced  their  steps 
to  the  town,  reaching  without  inquiry  or  molestation  their 
own  home. 

13 


*94 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


CHAPTER  XXXI* 

“  So  live,  that  when  thy  summons  comes  to  join 
The  innumerable  caravan,  that  moves 
To  the  pale  realms  of  shade,  where  each  shall  take 
His  chamber  in  the  silent  halls  of  death, 

Thou  go  not,  like  the  quarry  slave,  at  night 
Scourged  to  his  dungeon  ;  but  sustained  and  soothed 
By  an  unfaltering  trust,  approach  thy  grave, 

Like  one  who  wraps  the  drapery  of  his  couch 
About  him,  and  lies  down  to  pleasant  dreams.” 

Bryant. 

A  bright  day  in  April  drew  near  its  close,  and  the  golden 
rays  of  the  spring  sun  poured  joyously  through  the  open  case¬ 
ment  into  the  chamber  of  death.  Yes,  the  “  King  of  Terrors  ” 
drew  nigh,  and  the  cold  damp,  which  his  black  pinions  swept 
on,  settled  upon  the  brow  of  Inez.  A  few  days  after  the 
massacre  at  Goliad,  a  raging  fever  crimsoned  her  cheeks, 
and  lent  unwonted  brilliance  to  the  large  black  eyes.  Delir¬ 
ium  ensued,  and  wildly  the  unfortunate  girl  raved  of  the  past 
— of  her  former  love,  her  hopelessness,  her  utter  desolation. 
The  dreamless  sleep  of  exhaustion  followed  this  temporary 
madness :  long  she  lay  in  the  stupor  so  near  akin  to  death, 
and  now,  consciousness  restored,  she  awaited  in  silence  her 
hour !  In  vain  the  kind-hearted  Sehora  entreated  her  to  see 
a  priest — steadfastly  she  refused.  At  length  Madame  Berara 
assumed  the  responsibility  of  calling  in  her  own  confessor, 
and  silently  quitting  the  room,  went  in  quest  of  him.  Inez 
suspected  the  cause  of  her  usual  absence,  and  too  feeble  to 
concentrate  her  thoughts,  turned  her  face  to  the  wall,  and 
wearily  closed  her  eyes.  Yet  one  hand  felt  along  the 
cover  and  beneath  the  pillow.  For  what  was  she  searching 
on  the  bed  of  death  ?  The  thin  fingers  rested  on  a  small 
and  well-worn  Bible,  and  a  tiny  package,  wrapped  in  paper 
and  carefully  tied.  The  sacred  volume  was  feebly  pushed 
beneath  her  head,  and  mechanically  she  undid  the  knot,  and 
drew  forth  a  glossy  lock  of  black  hair.  Wearily  she  pressed 
it  to  her  lips  several  times,  and  again  folding  it  away,  her 
hands  sank  powerless  upon  her  bosom. 


fNEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


*95 


Inez,  Inez !  are  there  none  near  to  clasp  thy  cold  hand 
and  tenderly  lift  thy  weary  head  ?  Alas,  thou  desolate  one , 
Thou  art  left  alone  in  the  bitter  hour  of  thy  trial  I  When 
all  things  seem  shrouded  in  impenetrable  gloom,  and  thy 
darkened  soul  turns  from  the  tortured  past  to  the  dim,  un¬ 
certain  future,  no  loved  one  is  nigh  to  dash  away  the  gather¬ 
ing  mists,  and  point  to  that  celestial  home  “  of  which  it  hath 
not  entered  into  the  heart  of  man  to  conceive.” 

Oh,  Inez  1  thy  short  life  has  been  dark  and  tempestuous  ; 
it  is  hard  that  a  calm  and  peaceful  end  is  denied  to  thee, 
thou  suffering  one,  longing  for  rest,  oblivion  of  the  past, 
utter  unconsciousness  1  Struggle  on,  proud  maiden  !  but  a 
few  moments,  and  thy  tones  will  vibrate  no  longer,  thy  firm 
step  cease  forever,  and  thy  memory  pass  away  like  the 
shadows  of  night ! 

Senora  Berara  re-entered  the  silent  chamber,  accom¬ 
panied  by  a  priest,  clad  in  the  vestments  of  his  order.  They 
approached  the  bed,  and  the  aged  dame,  bending  over  Inez, 
whispered  audibly : 

“  I  could  not  find  my  own  Padre,  but  I  bring  one  who 
will  confess  and  absolve  thee  ?  Make  haste  to  prepare  for 
heaven.” 

“  I  want  neither  confession  nor  absolution  1  Begone  !  and 
let  me  die  in  peace,”  she  answered,  without  unclosing  the 
lids,  which  lay  so  heavily  upon  the  sunken  eyes. 

“  Leave  us  together !  I  will  call  thee  when  thou  art 
wanted,”  whispered  he  of  the  Order  of  Jesus.  The  matron 
immediately  withdrew,  repeating  an  Ave  Maria ;  and  they 
were  left  alone. 

“  Inez  1  ” 

A  shudder  crept  through  the  wasted  form,  and,  with  a 
start,  she  looked  upon  the  face  of  the  intruder.  Even  in 
death,  hatred  was  strong ;  the  dim  eye  flashed,  and  the  cold, 
damp  lips  wreathed  into  a  smile  of  utter  scorn : 

“  Well,  Padre  !  you  have  tracked  me  at  last.  It  is  a  pity, 
though,  you  had  not  set  out  one  day  later ;  you  would  have 
altogether  missed  your  prey  !  But  I  am  content,  for  I  am 
far  beyond  your  reach  !  ”  She  gasped  for  breath,  yet  ghastly 
was  the  mocking  smile  which  lit  up  the  face. 

“  Not  so,  Inez  I  you  escaped  me  once;  I  have  you  now  I 
You  have  defied  me  in  health ;  but  in  death  I  conquer.  You 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


196 

cannot  die  in  peace  without  my  blessing.  Remember,  re¬ 
member,  one  sin  unconfessed  will  sink  you  into  everlasting 
perdition  !  Think  you  I  will  absolve  you  1  Never  !  Never !  * 

“  What  brings  you  here  ?  Think  you  the  approach  of 
death  will  terrify  me  ? — that  I  shall  claim  your  intercession 
and  absolution  ?  Have  you  come  hoping  to  make  a  bargain, 
and  receive  my  order  for  a  hundred  sheep,  or  as  many  cattle, 
on  condition  that  you  pray  me  out  of  purgatory  ?  I  tell  you 
now,  if  there  be  such  a  place,  you  will  surely  follow  me  ere 
long.  We  shall  not  be  separated  long,  my  godly  Padre  1  ” 

Large  drops  rolled  from  her  brow,  and,  gasping,  she  con¬ 
tinued  more  indistinctly : 

“  There  is  one  to  stand  between  us  now,  even  blackbrowed 
Death !  and  now,  as  I  speak,  I  see  his  shadow  flung  over  me. 
I  am  dying,  and  if  I  am  lost,  you  are  to  blame  1  you,  and 
you  only  1  You  a  man  of  God!  You  forgive  my  sins,  and 
give  me  a  passport  to  heaven !  Padre,  I  know  you,  in  all 
your  hypocrisy,  and  I  know  that,  if  there  be  a  God,  you  have 
outraged  His  every  law!  You  have  led  me  astray!  You 
have  brought  me  to  this !  Padre,  I  am  sinful,  full  well  I 
know  it ;  for  this  is  an  hour  when  the  barrier  which  hides 
the  secret  soul  is  thrown  down,  and  every  deed  and  thought 
stands  up  boldly  for  itself.  I  have  not  served  God !  But 
oh!  I  would  not  change  places  with  you,  leader,  teacher, 
guide,  consecrated  priest,  as  you  are — for  you  have  mocked 
him !  Yes,  mocked  him !  set  aside  his  written  word,  and 
instead  of  Bible  truths  you  told  me  of  Saints,  and  Relics, and 
Miracles !  You  bade  me  worship  the  cross,  and  never  once 
mentioned  Him  who  consecrated  it  with  his  agony  and  blood  \ 
In  my  childhood  I  believed  your  legends  and  miracles, 
and  trusted  to  such  as  you  to  save  me.  A  dreadful  curse 
will  rest  upon  your  head,  for  you  came  in  sheep’s  clothing, 
and  devoured  many  precious  souls  !  Padre,  I — I — ”  In  vain 
she  strove  to  articulate,  further  utterance  was  denied  her. 
The  ghastly  hue  of  death  settled  upon  her  face.  She  lifted 
her  eyes  to  heaven  as  in  prayer ;  vacantly  they  wandered  to 
the  face  of  the  Padre,  now  well-nigh  as  pale  as  her  own ; 
then  slowly  closed  forever.  A  slight  quiver  passed  over  the 
lips,  a  faint  moan,  and  Inez  was  at  rest.  For  long  her 
wearied  spirit  had  cried  “  Peace  !  peace !  ”  and  now  she  laid 
herself  down  and  slept  the  long,  unbroken  sleep  of  death. 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


197 


*  Oh !  you  have  yearned  for  rest. 

May  you  find  it  in  the  regions  of  the  blest." 

As  she  had  died  without  the  pale  of  the  church,  they 
refused  the  lifeless  form  a  narrow  bed  in  consecrated  ground. 
Even  the  ordinary  service  for  the  dead  was  entirely  omitted  ; 
and,  without  a  prayer,  they  committed  her  to  the  silent 
tomb.  The  kind  old  dame,  remembering  her  grief  at  the 
secret  burial  of  her  noble  friend,  obtained  permission  to  lay 
her  by  his  side,  and,  with  the  fierce  howlings  of  the  tempest 
for  her  funereal  dirge,  they  consigned  Inez — the  proud, 
beautiful,  gifted,  yet  unfortunate  Inez — to  rest.  Peace, 
Inez,  to  thy  memory,  and  may  the  sod  lie  lightly  on  thy 
early  grave  1 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

u  There’s  a  bliss  beyond  all  that  the  minstrel  has  told, 

When  two,  that  are  linked  in  one  heavenly  tie, 

With  heart  never  changing,  and  brow  never  cold, 

Love  on  through  all  ills,  and  love  on  till  they  die  !  ** 

Moore. 

“  Come,  Florence,  put  on  your  bonnet ;  we  land  in  a  few 
moments, ”  said  Mr.  Stewart,  entering  the  splendidly  fur¬ 
nished  saloon  of  a  Mississippi  steamer,  where  she  sat,  book 
in  hand.  Quietly  the  young  wife,  for  such  she  now  was, 
complied  with  his  request,  and  taking  her  husband’s  arm, 
they  advanced  to  the  bow  of  the  boat.  It  was  a  bright, 
sunny  morning  in  early  May,  and  the  balmy  breath  of  the 
opening  summer  wafted  gladness  to  many  a  weary,  aching 
heart.  The  margin  of  the  river  was  fringed  with  willow, 
poplar,  cotton-wood,  and  cypress,  the  delicate  fresh  green 
foliage  contrasting  beautifully  with  the  deep  azure  sky,  and 
the  dark  whirling  waters  of  the  turbid  stream.  It  was  such 
a  day  as  all  of  us  may  have  known,  when  nature  wore  the 
garb  of  perfect  beauty,  and  the  soothing  influence  is  felt 
and  acknowledged  gratefully — joyfully  acknowledged  by 


igS  INEZ  •  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 

every  one  accustomed  from  childhood  duly  to  appreciate, 
admire,  and  love  the  fair  and  numberless  works  of  God, 
who, 

- “  Not  content 

With  every  food  of  life  to  nourish  man, 

Makes  all  nature  beauty  to  his  eye 
And  music  to  his  ear.” 

Florence  was  gazing  intently,  as  each  object  receded 
from  her  view.  They  turned  an  angle  in  the  stream,  and 
drew  near  a  landing,  with  only  a  solitary  warehouse  visible. 
She  started,  and  her  clasped  hands,  resting  on  her  husband’s 
arm,  pressed  heavily.  He  looked  down  into  the  flushed  face, 
and  said  with  a  smile : 

“Well,  Florence,  what  is  it?  Why  do  you  tremble 
so?” 

“  Mr.  Stewart,  I  cannot  be  mistaken :  this  is  my  fathers 
old  landing  !  Why  do  you  look  so  strangely  ?  Oh  1  if  you 
knew  what  painful  memories  crowd  upon  my  mind,  you  could 
not  smile  so  calmly  !  ”  and  her  voice  faltered. 

“  Laying  his  hand  tenderly  on  hers,  he  replied : 

“  You  once  asked  me  whereabouts  on  the  river  my  planta¬ 
tion  was  situated.  I  evaded  your  question.  You  are  aware 
that  I  inherited  it  from  a  bachelor  uncle.  He  purchased 
it  from  your  father,  and  to  your  old  home,  my  dear  Flor¬ 
ence,  we  have  come  at  last.  It  is  yours  again,  and  I  should 
have  told  you  long  ago,  but  feared  you  might  be  impatient 
of  the  journey  ;  and  then  it  is  pleasant  to  surprise  you.” 

Ere  Florence  could  speak  the  mingled  emotions  of  her 
heart,  the  boat  stopped,  and  the  jangling  bells  warned  them 
to  lose  no  time. 

Mr.  Stewart  placed  her  on  the  bank,  and  beckoning  to  a 
coachman  mounted  on  a  large  heavy  carriage,  opened  the 
door,  assisted  her  in,  and  then  cordially  shaking  the  out¬ 
stretched  hand  of  the  servant,  inquired  if  all  were  well  at 
home  ?  ” 

“  Oh  yes,  sir  !  all  well  except  your  mother.  She  has  had 
the  asthma,  but  is  better.  But  ain’t  you  going  to  let  me  look 
at  your  wife?  You  put  her  in  as  if  I  wan’t  to  see  my  new 
mistress.” 

Mr.  Stewart  laughed,  and  opening  the  door,  bade  Flor¬ 
ence  look  out;  she  threw  back  her  long  mourning  veil, 


r 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


199 


and  bent  forward;  their  eyes  met,  and  both  started  with 
surprise : 

“  Isaac !  ” 

“  Miss  Florry  !  sure  as  I  am  alive  1  ”  and  he  grasped  the 
white  hand  heartily. 

“  I  cannot  understand  this  at  all  1  Isaac,  how  came  you 
here  ?  ” 

“  Why  you  see,  when  the  plantation  was  sold,  we  were 
sold  with  it;  that’s  how  I  come  to  be  here.” 

“  My  dear  Florence,  it  is  strange,  very  strange,  that  I 
never  once  thought  of  your  recognizing  the  servants,  though 
I  should  have  known  you  could  not  forget  them.  In  what 
capacity  did  Isaac  formerly  serve  ?  ” 

“  He  was  always  our  coachman  ;  and  many  a  ride  in  child¬ 
hood  I  owe  to^his  kindness  and  wish  to  make  me  happy. 
Isaac,  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you  again.  And  her  smile 
confirmed  her  words. 

Mr.  Stewart  took  the  seat  by  her  side,  and  was  closing  the 
door,  when  the  old  man  interfered. 

“  Miss  Florry,  I  know  old  master  is  dead — we  heard  that 
sometime  ago ;  but  where  is  Miss  Mary  ?  that  blessed 
good  child,  that  never  gave  a  cross  word  to  one  on  the  plan¬ 
tation  Why  didn’t  she  come  home  with  you  ?  ” 

Florence  could  not  reply,  and  the  tears  rolled  silently  over 
her  cheeks. 

“  Isaac,  ”  said  Mr.  Stewart,  in  a  low,  saddened  tone, 
u  Mary  has  gone  to  a  brighter  home  in  heaven  !  She  is  happier 
far  than  she  could  be  even  here  with  us!  She  died  about  a 
month  ago.” 

There  was  a  pause,  and  then,  wiping  his  rough  sleeve 
across  his  eyes,  Isaac  slowly  said — “  And  Miss  Mary  is  dead ! 
Well,  she  has  gone  to  heaven,  if  ever  anybody  did !  for  she 
was  never  like  common  children.  Many’s  the  time  when  my 
poor  little  Hannah  was  burnt,  and  like  to  die,  that  child  has 
come  by  herself  of  dark  nights  to  bring  her  a  cake,  or  some¬ 
thing  sweet  and  good !  God  bless  her  little  soul !  she  always 
was  an  angel !  ”  and  again  wiping  his  eyes  he  mounted  the 
box  and  drove  homeward. 

Ah !  gentle  Mary  I  no  sculptured  monument  marks  thy 
resting-place !  No  eulogistic  sermon,  no  high-flown  pane¬ 
gyric  was  ever  delivered  on  thy  life  and  death  l  Yet  that 


200 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO . 


silent  tear  of  old  Isaacs  outspoke  a  thousand  eulogies  I  It 
told  of  all  thy  kindness,  charity,  love,  angelic  purity  of  heart, 
and  called  thee  “  Guardian  Angel  ”  of  the  house  of  Hamil¬ 
ton. 

Night  found  Florence  sitting  alone  in  the  parlor  of  her 
old  and  dearly  loved  home.  The  apartment  was  much  as 
she  had  left  it  five  years  before,  and  old  familiar  articles  of 
furniture  greeted  her  on  every  side.  She  sat  down  to  the 
piano,  on  which  in  girlhood  she  had  practised,  and  gently 
touched  the  keys.  The  soft  tones,  waking  the  “  slumbering 
chord  of  memory,”  brought  most  vividly  back  the  scenes 
of  other  days.  Again  she  stood  there  an  only  cherished 
daughter,  and  her  father’s  image,  as  he  used  to  stand  lean¬ 
ing  against  the  mantel-piece,  rose  with  startling  distinctness 
before  her.  And  there,  too,  stood  her  cousin,  with  the  soft 
blue  eyes  and  golden  curls  of  her  girlhood  ;  and  she  fancied 
she  heard,  once  again,  the  clear,  sweet  voice,  and  felt  the 
fond  twining  of  her  arms  about  her.  Long  forgotten  cir¬ 
cumstances  in  primitive  freshness  rushed  upon  her  mind, 
and  unable  to  bear  the  sad  associations  which  crowded  up, 
Florence  turned  away  from  the  instrument,  and  seating  her¬ 
self  on  the  sofa,  gave  vent  to  an  uncontrollable  burst  of 
sorrow — 


“  Oh  !  what  a  luxury  it  is  to  weep, 

And  find  in  tears  a  sad  relief  !  ” 

And  calmly  Florence  wept,  not  bitterly,  for  she  had  had 
much  of  sorrow  to  bear,  and  schooled  her  heart  to  meet 
grief  and  sadness.  Yet  it  was  hard  to  come  back  to  her 
cherished  home  and  miss  from  her  side  the  gentle  playmate 
of  her  youth,  the  parent  she  had  almost  idolized,  and  feel 
that  she  had  left  them  in  far  distant  resting-places.  She 
heard  her  husband’s  step  along  the  hall,  and  saw  him  enter 
— she  strove  to  repress  her  tears  and  seem  happy,  but  the 
quivering  lips  refused  to  smile.  He  sat  down,  and  draw¬ 
ing  his  arm  around  her,  pressed  her  face  to  his  bosom,  and 
tenderly  said  : 

“  My  mother  had  much  to  say,  after  my  long  absence,  and 
I  could  not  leave  her  till  this  moment.  My  own  heart  told 
me  that  you  suffered,  and  I  longed  to  come  to  you  and 
sympathize  and  cheer.” 


INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 


201 


“  Do  not  think  me  weak,  Mr-  Stewart,  because  you  find 
me  weeping.  It  is  seldom  I  give  vent  to  my  feelings,  but 
to-night  I  am  overwhelmed  with  recollections  of  the  past. 
Oh  !  now,  for  the  first  time,  I  realize  that  Mary  has  indeed 
gone  forever.  Mary  !  Mary  !  my  heart  aches  already  for 
you,  and  your  warm  unchanging  love !  Oh !  how  can  I 
look  forward  to  the  long  coming  years,  and  feel  that  I  shall 
never  see  her  again  ?  ” 

“  Florence,  my  own  Florence,  I  would  not  have  you  re¬ 
press  a  single  tear.  I  know  how  sadly  altered  all  things 
are,  and  what  a  dreary  look  your  home  must  bear.  All  I 
ask  is,  that  when  you  feel  lonely  and  unhappy,  instead  of 
hiding  your  grief,  come  to  me,  lay  your  weary  head  upon 
my  shoulder,  and  I  will  strive  to  cheer  you  my  precious 
wife !  Let  nothing  induce  you  to  keep  aught  from  me — 
let  perfect  confidence  reign  between  us ;  and  do  not,  for  a 
moment,  doubt  that  I  wish  you  other  than  you  are.  The 
past  is  very  painful  both  to  you  and  to  me,  and  the  mem¬ 
ory  of  Frank  and  Mary  constantly  saddens  my  spirit. 
Yet  we  will  look  forward  to  a  happier  future,  and  strive  to 
guide  and  cheer  each  other.”  He  kissed  the  broad  brow 
as  he  spoke,  and  drew  tighter  the  arm  which  encircled  his 
wife,  as  though  no  danger  could  assail  while  he  was 
near. 

“  Of  late,  Mr.  Stewart,  I  have  wondered  much  how  you 
ever  learned  to  love  me  ;  for  I  am  much  changed,  and  in 
my  girlhood  I  was  cold,  proud,  and  often  contemptuous  in 
my  manner.  Ah,  Mary,  how  different  from  you  1  If  I  have 
higher  aims  in  life,  and  purer  joys,  I  owe  it  all  to  her,  for 
she  led  me  to  love  the  law  of  God,  and  exemplified  in  her 
daily  life  the  teachings  of  Christ !  But  for  her,  I  shudder 
to  think  what  I  should  now  have  been  !  O  God,  I  thank 
thee  that  I  am  saved  even  as  a  burning  brand  from  the  fire ! 
I  have  hope  of  happiness  on  earth,  and  at  last  a  joyful  re¬ 
union  with  the  loved  ones  that  have  gone  on  home  before 
me.  And  you,  my  husband,  help  me  to  conquer  myself  to 
break  down  my  pride,  and  to  be  more  like  Mary.  Oh,  for¬ 
give  my  weaknesses,  and  ever  love  me  as  you  now  do  1  ” 

He  clasped  her  to  his  heart,  and  whispered — “  Fear  not, 
Florence,  that  I  will  ever  love  you  less  1  I,  too,  have  faults 
which  you  may  be  called  on  to  excuse,  yet  all  is  bright  for 


202  INEZ:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ALAMO. 

us,  and  I  trust  no  common  share  of  happiness  will  be  our 
portion  through  life  I  ” 


u  Oh,  sweet  reward  of  danger  past ! 

How  lovely,  through  tne  tears 
That  speak  her  hearts  o’erflowing  joy. 
The  young  wife’s  smile  appears. 

The  fount  of  love  for  her  hath  gushed, 
Life’s  shadows  all  have  flown  , 

Joy,  Florence  !  thou  a  heart  hast  fouad 
Responding  to  thine  own  J r 


THE  END* 


EDNA’S  SACRIFICE 


AND  OTHER  STORIES. 


BY 


FRANCES  HENSHAW  BADEN. 


EDNA’S  SACRIFICE. 


BY  FRANCES  HENSHAW  BADEN. 

rwas  a  cold  night  in  September.  For  three  days  the 
rain  had  fallen  almost  unceasingly.  It  had  been  im¬ 
possible  for  us  to  get  out ;  and  no  visitors  had  been  in. 
Everything  looked  dreary  enough,  and  we  felt  so,  truly. 
Of  course  the  stoves  were  not  prepared  for  use ;  and  this 
night  we  (that  is,  Nell,  Floy,  Aunt  Edna,  and  myself)  were 
huddled  in  the  corners  of  the  sofa  and  arm-chairs,  wrapped 
in  our  shawls.  We  were  at  our  wits’  end  for  something  to 
while  the  hours  away.  We  had  read  everything  that  was 
readable ;  played  until  we  fancied  the  piano  sent  forth  a 
wail  of  complaint,  and  begged  for  rest;  were  at  the  back¬ 
gammon  board  until  our  arms  ached;  and  I  had  given 
imitations  of  celebrated  actresses,  until  I  was  hoarse,  and 
Nell  declared  I  was  in  danger  of  being  sued  for  scandal. 
What  more  could  we  do?  To  dispel  the  drowsiness  that 
was  stealing  over  me,  I  got  up,  walked  up  and  down  the 
floor,  and  then  drew  up  the  blind,  and  gazed  out  into  the 
deserted  street.  Not  a  footfall  to  be  heard,  neither  man’s 
nor  beast’s;  nothing  but  patter,  patter,  patter.  At  length, 
after  standing  fully  fifteen  minutes — oh,  joyful  sound  ! — a 
coming  footstep,  firm  and  quick.  My  first  thought  was 
that  those  steps  would  stop  at  our  door.  But,  directly  after, 
I  felt  that  very  improbable,  for  who  was  there  that  would 
come  ^uoh  a  night?  Papa  was  up  north  with  mamma; 

489) 


Nell  and  Floy  were  visiting  Aunt  Edna'  and  me,  the  only 
ones  home,  save  the  servants.  Neither  of  us  had  as  yet  a 
lover  so  devoted  or  so  demented  as  to  come  out,  if  he  had 
anywhere  to  stay  in. 

On  and  past  went  the  steps.  Turning  away,  I  drew 
down  the  blind,  and  said:  “Some  one  must  be  ill,  and 
that  was  the  doctor,  surely :  for  no  one  else  would  go  out, 
only  those  from  direst  necessity  sent.” 

A  deep  sigh  escaped  Aunt  Edna’s  lips,  and  although 
partially  shaded  by  her  hand,  I  could  see  the  shadow  on 
the  beautiful  face  had  deepened. 

Why  my  aunt  had  never  married  was  a  mystery  to  me, 
for  she  was  lovable  in  every  way,  and  must  have  been  very 
beautiful  in  her  youth.  Thirty-six  she  would  be  next 
May-day,  she  had  told  me.  Thirty-six  seemed  to  me,  just 
sixteen,  a  very  great  many  years  to  have  lived.  But  aunt 
always  was  young  to  us ;  and  the  hint  of  her  being  an  old 
maid  was  always  resented,  very  decidedly,  by  all  her  nieces. 

“Aunt  Edna,”  I  said,  “tell  us  a  story — a  love-story, 
please.” 

“  Oh,  little  one,  you  have  read  so  many !  And  what  can 
I  tell  you  more?  ”  she  answered,  gently. 

“Oh,  aunty,  I  want  a  true  story!  Do,  darling  aunty, 
tell  us  your  own.  Tell  us  why  you  are  blessing  our  home 
with  your  presence,  instead  of  that  of  some  noble  man,  for 
noble  he  must  have  been  to  have  won  your  heart,  and— 
hush-sh  !  Yes,  yes ;  I  know  something  about  somebody, 
and  I  must  know  all.  Do,  please !  ” 

I  plead  on.  I  always  could  do  more  with  Aunt  Edna 
than  any  one  else.  I  was  named  for  her,  and  many  called 
me  like  her— “  only  not  nearly  so  pretty  ”  was  always 
odded. 

At  last  she  consented,  saying : 

“  Dear  girls,  to  only  one  before  have  I  given  my  entire 


191 


edna's  sacrifice,, 

confidence,  and  that  was  my  mother.  I  scarce  know  why 
I  have  yielded  to  your  persuasions,  little  Edna,  save  that 
this  night,  with  its  gloom  and  rain,  carries  me  back  long 
years,  and  my  heart  seems  to  join  its  pleading  with  yours, 
yearning  to  cast  forth  some  of  its  fulness,  and  perchance 
find  relief  by  pouring  into  your  loving  heart  its  own 
sorrows.  But,  darling,  I  would  not  cast  my  shadow  over 
your  fair  brow,  even  for  a  brief  time.’5 

With  her  hand  still  shading  her  face,  Aunt  Edna  began : 

“Just  such  a  night  as  this,  eighteen  years  ago,  dear 
child,  my  fate  was  decided.  The  daughter  of  my  mother's 
dearest  friend  had  been  with  us  about  a  year.  Dearly  we 
all  loved  the  gentle  child,  for  scarcely  more  than  child  she 
was — only  sixteen.  My  mother  had  taken  her  from  the 
cold,  lifeless  form  of  her  mother  into  her  own  warm,  loving 
heart,  and  she  became  to  me  as  a  sister.  So  fair  and  frail 
she  was!  We  all  watched  her  with  the  tenderest  care, 
guarding  her  from  all  that  could  chill  her  sensitive  nature 
or  wound  the  already  saddened  heart.  Lilly  was  her  name. 
Oh,  what  a  delicate  white  lily  she  was  when  we  first  brought 
her  to  our  home;  but  after  a  while  she  was  won  from  her 
sorrow,  and  grew  into  a  maiden  of  great  beauty.  Still, 
with  child-like,  winning  ways. 

“  Great  wells  of  love  were  in  her  blue  eyes — violet  hue 
he  called  them.  Often  I  wondered  if  any  one’s  gaze  would 
linger  on  my  dark  eyes  when  hers  were  near?  Her  pale 
golden  hair  was  pushed  off  her  broad  forehead  and  fell  in 
heavy  waves  far  down  below  her  graceful  shoulders  and 
over  her  black  dress.  Small  delicately-formed  features,  a 
complexion  so  fair  and  clear  that  it  seemed  transparent. 
In  her  blue  eyes  there  was  always  such  a  sad,  wistful  look ; 
this,  and  the  gentle  smile  that  ever  hovered  about  her  lips, 
gave  an  expression  of  mingled  sweetness  and  sorrow  that 
was  very  touching.  You  may  imagine  now  how  beautiful 
she  was. 


192 


edna’s  sacrifice. 


“  Her  mother  had  passed  from  earth  during  the  absence 
of  Lilly’s  father.  Across  the  ocean  the  sorrowful  tidings 
were  born  to  him.  He  was  a  naval  officer.  Lilly  was 
counting  the  days  ere  she  should  see  him.  The  good  news 
had  come,  that  soon  he  would  be  with  her.  At  last  the 
day  arrived,  but  oh !  what  a  terrible  sorrow  it  brought. 
When  her  heart  was  almost  bursting  with  joy,  expecting 
every  moment  to  be  clasped  in  those  dear  arms — a  tele¬ 
graphic  despatch  was  handed  in.  Eagerly  she  caught  it, 
tore  it  open,  read — and  fell  lifeless  to  the  floor. 

“  Oh  !  the  fearful,  crushing  words.  We  read,  not  of  his 
coming  to  Lilly,  but  of  his  going  to  her,  his  wife,  in  heaven. 
Yes,  truly  an  orphan  the  poor  girl  was  then. 

“  In  vain  proved  all  efforts  to  restore  her  to  conscious¬ 
ness.  Several  times,  when  she  had  before  fainted,  mother 
was  the  only  physician  needed.  But  that  night  she  shook 
her  head  and  said  : 

“  ‘We  must  have  a  doctor,  and  quickly.’ 

“  It  was  a  terrible  night.  Our  doctor  was  very  remote. 
Your  father  suggested  another,  near  by. 

“  Dr. - ,  well,  never  mind  his  name.  Your  father  said 

he  had  lately  known  him,  and  liked  him  much. 

“  Through  the  storm  he  came,  and  by  his  skilful  treat¬ 
ment  Lilly  was  soon  restored  to  consciousness,  but  not  to 
health.  A  low  nervous  fever  set  in,  and  many  days  we 
watched  with  fearful  hearts.  Ah !  during  those  days  I 
learned  to  look  too  eagerly  for  the  doctor’s  coming.  In¬ 
deed,  he  made  his  way  into  the  hearts  of  all  in  our  home. 
After  the  dreaded  crisis  had  passed,  and  we  knew  that 
Lilly  would  be  spared  to  us,  the  doctor  told  mother  he 
should  have  to  prescribe  for  me.  I  had  grown  pale,  from 
confinement  in  the  sick-room,  and  he  must  take  me  for  a 
drive,  that  the  fresh  air  should  bring  the  roses  back  to  my 
eheeks.  Willingly  mother  consented.  After  that  I  often 


Edna's  sacrifice. 


193 


went.  When  Lilly  was  able  to  come  down-stairs,  this 
greatest  pleasure  of  my  life  then  was  divided  with  her. 
One  afternoon  I  stood  on  the  porch  with  her,  waiting  while 
the  doctor  arranged  something  about  the  harness. 

“‘Oh!  how  I  wish  it  was  my  time  to  go!’  she  whis-» 
pered. 

“‘Well,  darling,  it  shall  be  your  time.  I  can  go  to¬ 
morrow.  Run,  get  your  hat  and  wraps,’  I  said,  really  glad 
to  give  any  additional  pleasure  to  this  child  of  many 
sorrows. 

“  ‘  No,  no,  that  would  not  be  fair.  And,  Edna,  don’t  you 
know  that  to-morrow  I  would  be  so  sorry  if  I  went  to-day? 
I  do  not  mean  to  be  selfish,  but,  oh,  indeed  I  cannot  help 
it!  I  am  wishing  every  time  to  go.  Not  that  I  care  for  a 
ride — ”  She  hesitated,  flushed,  and  whispered  :  ‘  I  like  to 
be  with  my  doctor.  Don’t  you,  Edna?  Oh!  I  wish  he 
was  my  father,  or  brother,  or  cousin — just  to  be  with  us  all 
the  time,  you  know.’ 

“Just  then  the  doctor  came  for  me,  and  I  had  to  leave 
her.  As  we  drove  off  I  looked  back  a^nd  kissed  my  hand 
to  her,  saying : 

“  ‘  Dear  little  thing !  I  wish  she  was  going  with  us.’ 

“  ‘  I  do  not,’  the  doctor  surprised  me  by  saying. 

“  I  raised  my  eyes  inquiringly  to  his.  In  those  beautiful, 
earnest  eyes  I  saw  something  that  made  me  profoundly 
happy.  I  could  not  speak.  After  a  moment  he  added : 

“  ‘  She  is  a  beautiful,  winning  child,  and  I  enjoy  her 
company.  But  when  with  her,  I  feel  as  if  it  was  my  duty 
to  devote  myself  entirely  to  her — in  a  word,  to  take  care  of 
her,  or,  I  should  say,  to  care  for  her  only.  And  this  after¬ 
noon,  of  all  others,  I  do  not  feel  like  having  Lilly  with 
us.’ 

“That  afternoon  was  one  of  the  happiest  of  my  life. 
Although  not  a  word  of  love  passed  his  lips.  I  knew  it 


194 


edna’s  sacrifice. 


filled  his  heart,  and  was  for  me.  He  told  me  of  his  home^ 
his  relatives,  his  past  life.  Of  his  mother  he  said  : 

“  ‘When  you  know  her,  you  will  love  her  dearly.5 

“  He  seemed  to  be  sure  that  I  should  know  her.  And 
then — ah,  well,  I  thought  so  too,  then. 

“  Lilly  was  waiting  for  us  when  we  returned.  He  chided 
her  for  being  out  so  late.  It  was  quite  dark.  Tears  filled 
her  eyes  as  she  raised  them  to  his  and  said : 

“  ‘  Don’t  be  angry.  I  could  not  help  watching.  Oh, 
why  did  you  stay  so  long  ?  I  thought  you  would  never 
come  back.  I  was  afraid  something  had  happened — that 
the  horse  had  run  away,  or — ’ 

‘“Angry  I  could  not  be  with  you,  little  one.  But  I 
don’t  want  you  to  get  sick  again.  Come,  now,  smile  away 
your  tears  and  fears!  Your  friend  is  safe  and  with  you 
again,’  the  doctor  answered. 

Taking  her  hand,  he  led  her  into  the  parlor. 

“  He  had  not  understood  the  cause  of  her  tears.  Only 
for  him  she  watched  and  wept. 

“  cDo  stay,5  she  plead,  when  her  doctor  was  going. 

“  He  told  her  he  could  not,  then  ;  there  was  another  call 
he  must  make,  but  would  return  after  a  while. 

“She  counted  the  minutes,  until  she  should  see  him 
again.  Never  concealing  from  any  of  us  how  dearly  slia 
loved  him.  She  was  truly  as  guileless  as  a  child  of  six 
years. 

“  From  the  first  of  her  acquaintance  with  him,  she  had 

declared  ‘her  doctor’  was  like  her  father.  Mother,  too, 

admitted  the  resemblance  was  verv  decided. 

•/ 

“  This  it  was,  I  think,  that  first  made  him  so  dear  to  her. 

“  Several  times,  after  the  doctor  returned  that  evening, 
I  saw  he  sought  opportunity  to  speak  to  me,  unheard  by 
others.  But  Lilly  was  always  near. 

“Ah!  it  was  better  so.  Better  that  from  his  own  lips  I 


edna’s  sacrifice. 


195 


heard  not  those  words  he  would  have  spoken.  Doubly 
hard  would  have  been  the  trial.  Oh,  that  night  when  he  said, 
*  good-by  !  5  He  slipped  in  my  hand  a  little  roll  of  paper. 
As  Lilly  still  stood  at  the  window,  watching  as  long  as  she 
could  see  him,  I  stole  away  to  open  the  paper.  Then,  for 
a  while,  I  forgot  Lilly,  aye,  forgot  everything,  in  my  great 
happiness.  He  loved  me!  On  my  finger  sparkled  the 
beautiful  diamond — my  engagement  ring — to  be  worn  on 
the  morrow,  4  if  I  could  return  his  love,5  he  said. 

“  Quickly  I  hid  my  treasures  away,  his  note,  and  the 
ring — Lilly  was  coming. 

“  She  was  not  yet  strong,  and  soon  tired.  I  nelped  her 
to  get  off  her  clothes,  and  as  she  kissed  me  good-night,  she 
said : 

“ 1 1  wish  we  had  a  picture  of  him — don’t  you  ? 5 

“  ‘  Who,  dear  ? 5  I  asked. 

“ 4 My  doctor!  Who  else?  You  tease.  You  knew  well 
enough,5  she  answered,  as  she  nestled  her  pretty  head 
closer  to  mine. 

“Soon  she  was  sleeping  and  dreaming  of  him.  Sweet 
dreams  at  first  I  knew  they  were;  for  soft  smiles  flitted 
over  her  face. 

“  I  could  not  sleep.  A  great  fear  stole  in  upon  my  han- 
piness.  Did  not  Lilly  love  him  too?  How  would  she  re¬ 
ceive  the  news  which  soon  must  reach  her?  Was  her  love 
such  as  mine?  Such  as  is  given  to  but  one  alone?  Or 
only  as  a  brother  did  she  love  him?  I  must  hnoiv  how  it 
was.  Heaven  grant  that  joy  for  one  would  not  bring  sor¬ 
row  to  the  other,  I  prayed.  I  had  not  long  to  wait.  Her 
dreams  became  troubled.  Her  lips  quivered  and  trembled, 
and  then  with  a  cry  of  agony  she  started  up. 

“  ‘  Gone,  gone,  gone ! 55  she  sobbed. 

“  It  was  many  minutes  ere  I  succeeded  in  calming  and 
making  her  understand  5twas  but  a  dream. 


196 


edna’s  sacrifice. 

“ ‘  Oh  !  but  so  real,  so  dreadfully  real.  I  thought  he  did 
not  care  for  me.  That  he  had  gone  and  left  me,  and  they 
told  me  he  was  married ! 7 

“  Telling  this,  she  began  to  sob  again. 

“  J  Lilly,  dear,  tell  me  truly — tell  your  sister,  your  very 
best  friend — how  it  is  you  love  your  doctor  ? 7  I  asked. 

“‘Plow?7  she  returned.  ‘Oh,  Edna,  more  than  all  the 
world!  He  is  all  that  I  have  lost  and  more;  and  if  he 
should  die,  or  I  should  lose  him,  I  would  not  wish  to  live. 
I  could  not  live.  He  loves  me  a  little,  does  he  not,  Edna?’ 

“I  could  not  reply.  Just  then  there  was  a  terrible 
struggle  going  on  in  my  heart.  That  must  be  ended,  the 
victory  won  ere  I  could  speak.  She  waited  for  my  answer 
and  then  said,  eagerly : 

“  ‘  Oh,  speak,  do!  What  are  you  thinking  about?’ 

“  Pressing  back  the  sigh — back  and  far  down  into  the 
poor  heart — I  gave  her  the  sweet,  and  kept  the  bitter  part, 
when  I  could  answer. 

“‘Yes,  dear,  I  do  think  he  loves  you  a  little  now,  and 
will,  by-and-by,  love  you  dearly.  God  grant  he  may  ! 7 

“‘Oh,  you  darling  Edna!  You  have  made  me  so  happy !’ 
she  cried,  kissing  me;  and  still  caressing  me  she  fell 
asleep. 

“  Next  morning  I  enclosed  the  ring,  with  only  these 
words : 

“  ‘  Forgive  if  I  cause  you  sorrow,  and  believe  me  your 
true  friend.  I  return  the  ring  that  I  am  not  free  to  ac¬ 
cept.7 

“  I  intended  that  my  reply  should  mislead  him,  when  I 
wrote  that  I  was  not  free,  and  thus  to  crush  any  hope  that 
might  linger  in  his  heart.  While  at  breakfast  that  morn¬ 
ing,  we  received  a  telegram  that  grandma  was  extremely 
ill,  and  wanted  me.  Thus,  fate  seemed  to  forward  my 


Edna’s  sacrifice. 


197 


plans.  I  had  thought  to  go  away  for  a  while.  I  told 
mother  all.  How  her  dear  heart  ached  for  me !  Yet  she 
dared  not  say  aught  against  my  decision.  She  took  charge 
of  the  note  for  the  doctor,  and  by  noon  I  was  on  my  jour¬ 
ney.  Two  years  passed  ere  I  returned  home.  Mother 
wrote  me  but  little  news  of  either  Lilly  or  her  doctor  after 
the  first  letter,  telling  that  my  note  was  a  severe  shock  and 
great  disappointment.  Three  or  four  months  elapsed 
before  grandma  was  strong  enough  for  me  to  leave  her. 
An  opportunity  at  that  time  presented  for  my  going  to 
Europe.  I  wanted  such  an  entire  change,  and  gladly  ac¬ 
cepted.  Frequently  came  letters  from  Lilly.  For  many 
months  they  were  filled  with  doubts  and  anxiety ;  but 
after  a  while  came  happier  and  shorter  ones.  Ah,  she 
had  only  time  to  be  with  him,  and  to  think  in  his  absence 
of  his  coming  again. 

u  When  I  was  beginning  to  tire  of  all  the  wonders  and 
grandeur  of  the  old  world,  and  nothing  would  still  the 
longing  for  home,  the  tidings  came  they  were  married, 
Lilly  and  her  doctor,  and  gone  to  his  Western  home  to  take 
charge  of  the  patients  of  his  uncle,  who  had  retired  from 
practice.  Then  I  hastened  back,  and  ever  since,  dear  girls, 
I  have  been  contented,  finding  much  happiness  in  trying 
to  contribute  to  that  of  those  so  dear.  Now,  little  Edna, 
you  have  my  only  love-story,  its  beginning  and  ending.” 

“  But,  aunty,  do  tell  me  his  name,”  I  said.  “  Indeed,  it 
is  not  merely  idle  curiosity.  I  just  feel  as  if  I  must  know 
it — that  it  is  for  something  very  important.  Now  you 
need  not  smile.  I’m  very  earnest,  and  I  shall  not  sleep 
until  I  know.  I  really  felt  a  presentiment  that  if  I  knew 
his  name  it  might  in  some  way  effect  the  conclusion  of  the 
story.” 

“  Well,  my  child,  I  may  as  well  tell  you.  Dr.  Graham 
it  was — Percy  Graham,”  Aunt  Edna  answered,  low. 


/ 


198  edna’s  sacrifice. 

“  Ah!  did  I  not  tell  you?  It  was  not  curiosity.  Listen, 
aunty  mine.  While  you  were  away  last  winter,  papa  re¬ 
ceived  a  paper  from  St.  Louis ;  he  handed  it  to  me,  pointing 
to  an  announcement.  But  I  will  run  get  it.  He  told  me 
to  show  it  to  you,  and  I  forgot.  I  did  not  dream  of  all 
this.” 

From  my  scrap-book  I  brought  the  slip,  and  Aunt  Edna 
read : 

“  Died. — Suddenly,  of  heart  disease,  on  the  morning  of 
the  15th,  Lilly,  wife  of  Doctor  Percy  Graham,  in  the  34th 
year  of  her  age.” 

Aunt  Edna  remained  holding  the  paper,  without  speak¬ 
ing,  for  some  minutes ;  then,  handing  it  back  to  me,  she 
said,  softly,  as  if  talking  to  her  friend  : 

“ Dear  Lilly !  Thank  heaven,  I  gave  to  you  the  best  I 
had  to  give,  and  caused  you  nought  but  happiness.  God 
is  merciful !  Had  he  been  taken,  and  you  left,  how  could 
we  have  comforted  you?”  And  then,  turning  to  me,  she 
said :  “  Nearly  a  year  it  is  since  Lilly  went  to  heaven.  ’Tis 
strange  I  have  not  heard  of  this.” 

“  ‘Tis  strange  from  him  you  have  not  heard,”  I  thought; 
“  and  stranger  still  ’twill  be  if  he  comes  not  when  the  year 
is  over.  For  surely  he  must  know  that  you  are  free — ” 
But  I  kept  my  thoughts,  and  soon  after  kissed  aunty  good¬ 
night. 

One  month  passed,  and  the  year  was  out.  And  some¬ 
body  was  in  our  parlor,  making  arrangements  to  carry 
away  Aunt  Edna.  I  knew  it  was  he,  when  he  met  me  at 
the  hall  door,  and  said : 

“  Edna — Miss  Linden !  can  it  be  ?  ” 

“Yes  and  no,  sir — both — Edna  Linden;  but,  Doctor 
Graham,  not  your  Edna.  You  will  find  her  in  the  parlor,” 
I  answered,  saucily,  glad  and  sorry,  both,  at  his  coming. 


199 


EDNA'S  SACRIFICE. 

Ah,  she  welcomed  him  with  profound  joy,  I  know.  He 
knew  all ;  papa  had  told  him.  And  if  he  loved  the  beauti¬ 
ful  girl,  he  then  worshipjDed  that  noble  woman. 

“  Thank  God  !  Mine  at  last !  ”  I  heard  him  say,  with 
fervent  joy,  as  I  passed  the  door,  an  hour  after. 

How  beautiful  she  was,  when,  a  few  weeks  after,  she 
became  his  very  own.  I  stood  loside  her  and  drew  off 
her  glove.  How  happy  he  looked  as  he  placed  the  heavy 
gold  circlet  on  her  finger !  How  proudly  he  bore  her  down 
the  crowded  church  aisle ! 

Ah,  little  Lilly  was  no  doubt  his  dear  and  cherished 
wife.  But  this  one,  ’twas  plain  to  sc&»  was  the  one  lov©  of 
his  life. 


WHO  WAS  THE  THIEF? 

BY  FRANCES  HENSHAW  BADEN. 

FRED  LORING’S  toilet  was  at  length  completed,  and 
turning  from  the  glass,  he  said : 

“  Well,  I’m  off  now,  Nellie.  Good-by.” 

“At  last !  Excuse  me,  Fred,  but  just  now  quietness  is 
more  desirable  than  your  society.  It  is  impossible  to  get 
baby  to  sleep  while  you  are  flying  about  the  room.  She 
sees  you,  and  wants  to  get  to  you,”  answered  Nellie. 

“All  right.  I’ll  get  out  of  the  way.  By-by,  baby.” 

And  kissing  the  little  one,  Fred  hurried  out. 

Ten  or  fifteen  minutes  passed.  Baby  was  quiet  at  last, 
almost  asleep,  when  the  door  opened,  and  in  rushed  Fred 
again.  And  up  started  baby,  with  a  shout  of  welcome. 
An  impatient  look  came  into  Nellie’s  eyes,  and  the  tone  to 
her  words : 

“  Oh,  Fred,  I  had  almost  gotten  her  to  sleep.  And  now 
see !  And  I  am  so  tired.  What  has  brought  you  back  so 
soon  ? 

“  Well,  well,  I’m  sorry.  But  I  left  my  revolver  behind. 
I  guess  she’ll  soon  be  quiet  again,”  Fred  said,  unlocking 
the  drawer  and  taking  out  his  revolver. 

“  Fred,  I  declare  I  never  did  see  such  a  man.  You  can¬ 
not  leave  the  house  without  being  armed.  Do  you  forget 
there  is  a  law  against  carrying  concealed  weapons  ?  ” 

“  I  remember  to  be  on  my  guard,  and  prepared  to  defend 

(200) 


WHO  WAS  THE  THIEF? 


201 


myself  if  it  be  necessary.  Every  day  we  read  accounts  of 
persons  being  robbed,  knocked  down,  and  such  like.  I 
tell  you,  Nellie,  sensible  persons  go  armed  always.” 

“  Perhaps,  Fred.  But  I  think  the  nervous  and  sus¬ 
picious  persons  are  more  likely  to.  Indeed,  I  never  like  to 
see  you  carrying  off  your  revolver.  I’m  in  constant  fear 
of  something  dreadful  happening.” 

“  But  never  in  dread  of  any  one  murdering  and  robbing 
me.  Of  course  not!  ”  Fred  snapped  forth. 

aOh,  Fred!  You  are  so  quick  and  suspicious  of  every 
one,  that  my  great  fear  is  you’ll  hurt  the  wrong  person  " 
some  time  !  ”  said  Nellie,  with  a  really  anxious  look  on  her 
pretty  face. 

“  Indeed  I  am  not  aware  of  ever  having  gotten  hold  of 
the  wrong  person.  I  think  you  are  calling  on  your  im¬ 
agination  for  facts,  Mrs.  Loring!  ”  Fred  said  angrily. 

“Now,  Fred,  to  defend  myself  I  shall  have  to  point  to 
facts.  Do  you  forget  catching  hold  of  poor  old  Uncle  Tom, 
and  choking  him  so  he  could  not  explain  he  was  carrying 
the  clothes  to  his  wife  to  wash,  instead  of  being  a  thief,  as 
you  supposed  ?  And — ” 

“And  will  I  ever  forget  your  handing  me  over  to  a 
policeman,  for  having  attempted  to  pick  your  pocket  in  the 
streetcar?”  exclaimed  a  bright,  merry -looking  girl,  who 
entered  the  room  during  Nellie’s  attempt  to  defend  herself 
from  Fred’s  accusation. 

“  Oh,  Fan,  don’t,  for  mercy’s  sake.  I  cry  quarter. 
Two  at  a  time  is  more  than  I  can  stand.  And  besides,  I 
had  hoped  that  you  would  not  have  exposed  that  miser¬ 
able  mistake !  ”  Fred  said,  with  a  reproachful  look. 

“  I  intended  to  keep  the  secret.  But  really,  Fred,  I’ve 
been  almost  dying  to  have  a  good  laugh  with  Nellie  over 
it.  And  to-night  the  opportunity  was  too  tempting  to 
resist.” 


202 


WHO  WAS  THE  THIEF? 


“  Mercy,  Fan  !  If  you  tell  Nellie,  I’ll  never  hear  the  last 
of  it.” 

“  Oh,  I  must.  It  is  too  late  to  recede.  Nellie  will  im¬ 
agine  it  worse,  if  possible,  than  it  really  is.  But  I’ll  not 
prolong  your  agony.  I’ll  be  as  brief  as  possible,”  said 
Fannie. 

And  amidst  the  cries  of  “  Don’t!  don’t!  ”  and  “Yes,  do, 
do !  ”  Fannie  began. 

“  The  day  I  reached  here,  just  as  I  came  out  of  the  de« 
pot,  I  spied  my  beloved  and  respected  cousin  Fred  enter’ 
ing  the  street  car.  I  hurried  up,  and  got  in  immediately 
after  him.  Even  if  my  veil  had  been  raised  I  could  hardly 
have  expected  him  to  know  me,  as  I  have  changed  much 
in  five  years.  As  it  was,  my  face  was  completely  hidden. 
The  car  was  much  crowded,  many  standing — I  next  be¬ 
hind  Fred.  I  was  well  laden  with  lots  of  little  packages, 
so  the  idea  struck  me  to  drop  a  few  into  Fred’s  overcoat 
pockets.  Without  discovery  I  put  what  I  wished  into  one, 
and  was  about  slipping  my  porte-monnaie  into  the  other, 
when  my  hand  was  caught  with  such  a  grip  that  I  screamed 
right  out.  At  the  same  time  Fred  exclaimed,  ‘  Here  is  a 
pickpocket !  ”  And  of  course  there  was  a  policeman  there, 
as  none  was  needed.  I  was  too  frightened  to  speak  for  an 
instant.  At  length  I  found  voice  enough  to  say  to  the 
officer,  who  was  making  his  way  toward  me,  ‘  The  gentle¬ 
man  will  find  he  is  mistaken  in  a  moment.’ 

“After  the  first  fright,  I  was  really  amused,  notwith¬ 
standing  the  mortifying  situation.  By  that  time  Fred  had 
drawn  forth  my  porte-monnaie.  Nodding  to  the  policeman, 
he  said : 

“'‘An  old  dodge.  Putting  into  my  pocket  what  she  has 
taken  from  some  one  else.  Has  any  one  here  lost  this  ?  ’  ho 
asked,  holding  up  my  porte-monnaie. 

“No  one  claimed  it.  I  managed  to  get  off  my  veil  then, 


/ 


WHO  WAS  THE  THIEF?  203 

t^at  J  had  been  tugging  at.  I  had  gotten  a  lady  in  the 
depot  >o  tie  it  tightly  behind,  as  it  was  blowing  a  perfect 
gale  vfhen  I  arrived.  All  eyes  were  on  me  then,  of  course. 
And  the  officer,  not  recognizing  an  old  offender,  and  not  a 
very  guilty-looking  young  one,  hesitated.  I  looked 
eagerly  at  Fred,  to  see  if  he  would  not  recognize  me,  but 
he  did  not.  There  was  a  very  embarrassing  pause  then, 
that  had  to  be  ended ;  so  I  said,  not  trying  to  restrain  my 
smV  3s : 

‘  If  you  will  open  that  porte-monnaie,  Mr.  Loring,  you 
y\ II  see  my  card.  I  thought  my  acquaintance  would  jus¬ 
tify  my  loading  you  with  some  of  my  bundles.  If  you 
will  notice,  your  other  pocket  is  full.’ 

u  Every  one  waited  eagerly  the  result.  Quickly  Fred 
did  my  bidding.  You  may  imagine  his  look,  when  he 
exclaimed : 

“  ‘  Fannie  Loring !  Bless  my  soul,  coz,  can  you  ever  for¬ 
give  me?  But  how  could  I  know  you?  I’ve  not  seen  you 
since  you  were  a  child.’ 

“  There  was  a  shout  of  laughter  heard  then,  in  which 
Fred  and  I  joined.  But  Fred’s  was  not  a  very  hearty 
laugh ;  and  I  think  he  was  glad  to  get  out  of  that  car,  for 
he  made  me  walk  at  least  three  times  as  far  as  ever  you 
and  I  walk  when  we  leave  the  car.” 

Nellie  was  almost  convulsed  with  laughter,  which  baby 
seemed  to  enjoy  very  much.  And  Fred  exclaimed : 

“  It  was  not  half  as  bad  as  you  have  made  it  out,  Fan. 
And  just  for  a  punishment  for  your  laughing  so,  Nellie,  I 
hope  baby  will  not  go  to  sleep  for  hours.  I’m  off  now.” 

Merry  rippling  laughter  followed  him.  And  Fred  ran 
down  the  stairs,  and  out  of  the  house,  almost  hoping 
somebody  might  attempt  to  rob,  or  murder  him  even,  so 
that  his  revolver  might  prove  of  great  avail,  and  thus 
silence  Nellie,  who  was  ever  talking  about  what  she  called 


204 


WHO  WAS  THE  THIEF? 


his  suspicious  nature,  when  it  was  only  necessary  caution, 
he  thought. 

o 

Soon  baby  was  sleeping  soundly,  notwithstanding 
Fred's  wish  to  the  contrary.  And  Nellie,  putting  her  into 
the  crib,  went  to  the  bureau  to  arrange  her  hair. 

“  Why,  Fred  has  gone  without  his  watch ! 55  she  ex¬ 
claimed.  “  I  don’t  think  he  ever  did  that  in  his  life  before. 
I  wonder  he  has  not  been  back  again  before  this !  ” 

The  hours  passed  swiftly  by.  Fannie,  with  her  merry 
heart,  fully  compensating  Nellie  for  Fred’s  absence.  Eleven 
o’clock  came  before  they  imagined  it  near  so  late.  And 
just  then  they  heard  the  hall  door  close,  and  a  moment 
after  Fred  entered  the  room,  and  in  an  excited  voice  ex¬ 
claimed  : 

“  Now,  ladies,  perhaps  you  will  admit  the  good  of  carry¬ 
ing  a  revolver,  when  I  tell  you  that  to-night  I  have  been 
robbed.” 

“  Robbed !  ”  exclaimed  Nellie  and  Fannie  simulta¬ 
neously. 

“  Yes,  robbed.  But  I  did  not  stay  so,  many  minutes, 
thanks  to  my  revolver !  Listen,  and  I’ll  tell  you  all  about 
it.  On  my  way  home  I  turned  Gray’s  corner  into  Four¬ 
teenth  street.  You  know  how  dark  and  dismal  it  is  about 
there — no  lights.  Well,  as  I  turned,  a  fellow  came  rushing 
along,  knocked  against  and  nearly  sent  me  down.  And 
saying  quickly,  ‘  Excuse  me,  sir,’  hurried  on.  I  suspected 
what  it  was — a  dodge  they  have  when  relieving  a  man  of 
his  watch  or  pocket-book.  I  hastened  to  feel  for  my  watch* 
It  was  gone.” 

“  Why,  Fred,  your  watch — ” 

“  Stop !  Don’t  interrupt  me.  Wait  until  I’ve  done.” 

The  girls  exchanged  looks — mirthful  first,  anxious  after. 

“  In  a  second  I  was  after  him.  Presenting  my  revolver, 
I  bade  him  hand  me  the  watch.  He  resisted,,  I  covered 


WHO  WAS  THE  THIEF?  205 

him  with  my  pistol,  and  spoke  again  in  a  tone  which  con¬ 
vinced  him  I  was  in  a  dangerous  mood. 

“  ‘  Hand  me  that  watch.’ 

“  Out  it  came ;  and  without  taking  a  second  look  at  me, 
he  left.  And  thanks  to  my  little  beauty  here,”  tapping 
his  revolver,  a  I  am  home  again,  no  worse  off  than  when  I 
started.  Now,  what  say  you?  ” 

“Oh,  FredJ  Oh,  my  dear,  what  have  you  done  ?  Oh, 
you  have  robbed  that  man  of  his  watch !  Yours  is  on  the 
bureau.  You  left  it  home,”  Nellie  cried,  in  a  voice  of  real 
agitation. 

“What?  No!  Surely  not!”  exclaimed  Fred,  growing 
very  red,  and  starting  toward  the  bureau. 

Fannie  handed  to  Fred  his  own  watch,  at  the  same  time 
fairly  shaking  with  the  laughter  she  had  tried  so  hard  to 
suppress. 

“Oh,  Fred,  forgive  me.  I’m  only  human ;  I  must  laugh 
or  die.” 

Peal  after  peal  came  from  the  merry  girl,  who  could  not 
restrain  herself,  although  Nellie  looked  so  reproachfully, 
and  Fred  really  angrily  at  her  ;  the  former  saying : 

“Indeed,  Fannie,  I’m  too  much  frightened  to  laugh.” 

Fred  was  too  mortified  to  say  another  word  for  some 
time.  At  length,  turning  to  Fannie,  who  had  grown  a 
little  quiet,  he  snappishly  said : 

“  Pray,  don’t  stop !  I’m  very  happy  to  afford  you  so 
much  amusement.” 

Of  course  Fannie  began  anew ;  and  Nellie  trying  to  stop 
her  by  looks  and  motions,  asked : 

“What  shall  you  do,  Fred?” 

“It  is  not  a  matter  of  such  vital  importance  that  you 
need  look  so  worried,  Nellie.  I’ll  go  to  the  police  head¬ 
quarters,  explain  the  matter,  and  leave  the  watch.  That 
will  be  the  end  of  it,”  said  Fred,  trying  to  assume  a  light, 
careless  tone. 


208 


WHO  WAS  THE  THIEF? 


Nellie  hoped  it  might  be  the  end  of  it;  but  still  fearful 
of  something  unpleasant,  asked : 

“  Is  it  too  late  to-night  to  go,  Fred?  ” 

“  Certainly  it  is,”  Fred  answered. 

Seeing  Nellie’s  face  still  retain  its  anxious  and  frightened 
expression,  Fred  broke  out  laughing  himself,  saying: 

u  You  look  as  much  frightened,  Nell,  as  I  imagine  that 
man  looked  when  I  went  for  his  watch.” 

Next  morning  Fred  was  longer  than  usual  getting  off 
from  home,  and  all  Nellie’s  urging  haste  seemed  to  have 
the  tendency  to  retard  instead  of  accelerating  his  motions. 
But  at  last,  to  her  great  relief,  he  was  off.  After  getting  a 
few  rods  from  home,  he  drew  forth  the  stolen  watch,  and 
found  of  course  it  had  run  down.  Having  no  key  to  fit  it, 
he  approached  a  jewelry  store,  intending  to  have  it  wound 
up.  Re  had  failed  to  notice  the  very  particular  attention 
with  which  a  policeman  was  regarding  him.  Just  as  he 
was  about  to  enter  the  store,  he  was  tapped  on  the  shoul¬ 
der.  Turning,  he  beheld  the  officer,  a  total  stranger  to 
Fred,  so  he  knew  it  was  not  a  bit  of  use  to  explain  the  case 
to  him.  So  to  attract  as  little  notice  as  possible,  he  walked 
quietly  along  with  his  not  very  agreeable  companion  until 
they  reached  the  police  head-quarters. 

There  he  began  his  explanation.  All  were  strange  faces 
around  him,  on  which  he  saw  unmistakable  signs  of  merri¬ 
ment  when  he  said  it  was  “a  mistake.”  And  to  his  im¬ 
mense  surprise,  after  he  had  handed  over  the  dreadful 
watch,  and  was  turning  to  leave,  he  was  made  to  under¬ 
stand  he  was  a  'prisoner — the  accusation,  “  Robbery  and 
assault,  with  intent  to  kill !  ” 

He  sank  on  the  bench  for  a  moment,  so  overwhelmed  with 
surprise  and  mortification  that  he  could  with  difficulty 
collect  his  senses  enough  to  know  what  to  do.  Just  then 
a  gentleman  entered,  and  said  to  an  officer  near : 


WHO  WAS  THE  THIEF? 


207 


“I  was  surprised  to  hear  you  had  caught  the  rascal 
eo  speedily.  Where  is  the  scoundrel?  What  does  he 
say  ?  ” 

“  That  it  was  all  a  mistake !  ”  answered  the  officer,  with  a 
very  significant  smile.  “  There  he  is,”  pointing  to  Fred. 

“  Of  course — the  villain !  And  if  I  had  been  so  un¬ 
fortunate  as  not  to  have  had  a  watch  to  hand  over,  he 
would  have  murdered  and  robbed  me  of  what  I  might 
have  of  any  value.  The  murderous  rascal ! — Ah  !  how  are 
you,  Loring?  You  here!  ”  advancing  and  shaking  Freds 
hand  cordially,  and  continuing^  “  Show  me  that  cut-throat! 
Which  is  he  ?  ” 

The  expression  on  Fred’s  countenance  may  possibly  be 
imagined,  but  I  cannot  describe  it.  And  when,  in  answer 
to  the  call,  “  Prisoner,  stand  up,”  he  arose,  his  friend’s — • 
the  plaintiff’s — surprise  was  stupendous  for  a  moment; 
and  then  breaking  into  a  hearty  chuckle,  he  exclaimed: 

“Of  course  now  I  know  it  was  a  mistake.” 

The  dignity  of  the  place  was  forgotten  by  all  then,  and 
never  was  such  a  shout  of  laughter  heard  before  within 
those  walls.  But  Fred  could  not  join  in  it,  to  save  him. 
He  had  too  lately  stood  in  the  place  of  an  individual 
bearing  quite  too  many  opprobrious  epithets,  to  feel  very 
light-hearted. 

He  returned  home  to  relieve  Nellie’s  mind,  telling  her 
it  was  all  settled — she  need  have  now  no  more  anxiety 
about  it.  But  he  never  told  her  how  it  was  settled.  One 
thing,  however,  she  noticed — he  was  not  so  fond  of  his 
revolver’s  companionship  as  he  used  to  be.  And  once  she 
heard  him  say: 

“  If  the  law  was  more  strenuous  with  regard  to  tho 
carrying  of  concealed  weapons,  there  would  be  fewer 
criminal  indictments.” 


THE  GHOST. 

BY  FRANCES  HENSHAW  BADE* 

PEEPING  through  the  leaves  of  the  vine-covered 
bower,  and  watching  eagerly  the  path  through  the 
woods,  was  a  beautiful  little  maiden.  An  anxious  look 
was  in  her  deep  blue  eyes,  as  pressing  her  hands  over 
her  heart,  as  if  to  stop  its  heavy  beating,  she  said : 

“  Oh,  why  does  he  not  come  ?  How  long  a  time !  If 
he  had  good  news,  I  know  he  would  come  quicker.  Oh,  I 
have  not  a  mite  of  hope!  ” 

The  pretty  lips  quivered  then,  and  she  stepped  back, 
and  sank  on  the  mossy  seat. 

A  moment  after  a  sound,  slight  as  the  dropping  of 
leaves,  caught  her  ear.  She  sprang  up,  and  for  an  instant 
a  bright  light  shone  in  her  eyes,  but  quickly  died  away,  as 
the  slow,  heavy  step  came  nearer,  bringing  to  sight  a  tall, 
noble-looking  young  man,  whose  face,  if  less  stern,  would 
have  been  very  handsome. 

Without  speaking,  he  clasped  her  outstretched  hand 
and  drew  her  within  his  arms,  shaking  his  head  sadly. 

“  I  felt  it  was  so,  or  you  would  have  come  sooner,”  the 
maiden  said,  resting  her  head  against  his  shoulder. 

a  I  had  little,  if  any,  hope,  Susie.  I  went  this  last  time 
because  you  bade  me  to.” 

u  What  did  father  say,  Frank?  ” 

“Over  and  over  the  same  old  story  of  having,  since  your 

(208) 


THE  GHOST. 


209 


babyhood,  intended  you  to  be  the  wife  of  his  friend’s  son. 
Oh,  if  I  were  wealthier,  it  would  be  all  right,  I  know,” 
Frank  said,  his  dark  eyes  flashing. 

“  Don’t  talk  so,  dear,  please.  I  do  not  like  to  hear  you 
impute  a  wrong  motive  to  my  father.  I  will  never,  never 
listen  for  one  moment  to  any  words  of  love  from  George 
Forrester,  or  any  other  man  but  you,  Frank.  So  you  may 
be  sure,  if  papa  will  not  let  me  marry  you,  I  will  never 
marry  at  all,”  Susie  said,  her  eyes  full  of  tears,  looking  up 
to  his. 

“  Susie,  I  have  made  three  appeals  to  your  father  during 
the  year  past;  each  time  finding  him,  if  possible,  more  de¬ 
termined  to  oppose  our  happiness.  I  will  never  humiliate 
myself  again,  and  he  will  never  yield.  Now  what  will 
you  do  ?  ” 

“  Wait,  hope  and  pray.  I  can  do  nothing  more,”  Susie 
answered,  in  a  tearful  voice. 

“  Yes,  Susie,  darling,  you  can,  and  secure  our  immediate 
happiness.  You  can  come  with  me,  be  my  own  true  wife, 
love.” 

“No — no — no.  I  cannot.  I  should  not  secure  our  hap¬ 
piness.  I  should  be  miserable,  and  make  you  so.” 

“  Then  I  have  nothing  more  to  hope  for.  He  will  not 
give  you  to  me,  and  you  will  not  come.  Oh,  Susie,  how 
can  you  send  me  off?  You  know  you  are  all  the  world 
to  me!  If  I  lose  you,  I  lose  everything.  I  am  alone  in 
the  world.  There  are  many  loved  ones  to  comfort  your 
father,  until  he  comes  to  his  better  nature  and  calls  you 
back  to  his  heart.  Susie,  am  I  to  leave  you  forever?  ” 

The  beautiful  dark  eyes  were  looking  into  his,  filled 
with  so  much  love.  How  could  she  resist? 

“No — no.  I  shall  die,  if  you  leave  me — never  to  come 
again!  Oh,  what  am  I  to  do ?  I  love  you  better  than  my 
own  life.  Frank,  indeed  I  do !  But,  father — oh.  how  can  X 


210 


THE  GHOST. 


desert  him  ?  He  loves  me  more  than  the  other  children. 
I  am  the  oldest,  his  first  child,  and  so  like  what  mother 
was.  That  is  why  he  loves  me  so.  And  now  she  has  gone, 
I  should  stay — ” 

“And  break  your  heart  and  mine,  too,  Susie  ?  ” 

“  If  I  thought,  Frank,  you  would  not  mind  it  very 
long — ” 

“You  would  give  me  up!  And,  in  time,  get  into  your 
father’s  way  of  thinking,  and  end  by  marrying  the  man 
he  wants  you  to,”  Frank  said,  withdrawing  his  arm  and 
turning  away  with  a  great  sigh. 

“  Oh,  Frank,  how  can  you  talk  to  me  so?  ” 

“  Well,  Susie,  it  is  useless  prolonging  our  sorrow.  I  had 
better  say  good-by,  and  go  forever.” 

“  No,  no,  Frank,  dear  love.  Oh  !  what  am  I  to  do?  ” 

“  Be  happy,  my  own,  and  make  me  so.  Be  my  wife 

before  I  return  to  W - .  Go  with  me.  Susie,  your 

mother  loved  me.  I  know,  if  here,  she  would  plead  for 
me.” 

“Yes,  she  loved  you,  and  perhaps  in  her  blessed  home 
she  will  pity  me,  and  win  for  me  forgiveness,  alike  from 
heavenly  as  earthly  father,  if  longer  my  heart  cannot  re¬ 
sist  my  love,”  Susie  sobbed,  dropping  her  golden  head  on 
her  lover’s  bosom  and  promising  all  he  wished. 

“  The  last  night  at  home,”  she  said.  “  On  the  morrow 
I  must  go  forth,  to  return  no  more,  the  loving,  dutiful 
child.  Should  he  ever  consent  to  have  me  come  back,  I 
can  never  be  again  what  I  once  was  to  his  heart.  I  shall 
have  broken  the  trust  he  held  in  me,”  Susie  moaned. 

Tenderly  the  brother  and  sister  were  ministered  to,  her 
hand  resting  on  each  little  head,  as  their  lisping  voices 
followed  hers  in  the  evening  prayer.  Willie  and  Emma 
arose,  their  demure  faces  lifted  to  receive  the  good-night 
kiss.  But  Rosie,  the  two-and-a-half-year  baby,  the  dying 


THF  GHOST. 


211 


mother’s  sacred  charge,  wound  her  tiny  arms  about  the 
elder  sister,  and  with  baby-like  perversity  hung  on, 
lisping : 

“  Now  Susu  pay,  too.  Pease ,  Susu.  Do!  ” 

The  baby  plead;  and  Susie,  raising  her  eyes  to  Rosie’s, 
felt  mother,  not  far  away,  but  near,  very  near,  and  plead¬ 
ing  through  her  child. 

The  sunny  head  was  dropped  again,  and  Susie  prayed 
— even  as  Rosie  had  begged  her.  Prayed  for  guidance  to 
the  better  way. 

Three  pair  of  little  pattering  feet  were  resting.  Three 
rosy  faces  pressed  the  downy  pillow,  and  Susie’s  evening 
task  was  done. 

Gently  she  stole  away. 

“  I  will  go  to  father  myself,  to-night.  I  will  plead  with 
him  until  he  must  yield,”  Susie  said,  as  cautiously  closing 
the  door  of  the  nursery  she  entered  her  own  room. 

The  evening  was  oppressive,  and  Susie’s  black  dress 
became  very  uncomfortable.  Flitting  about,  guided  by 
the  moonbeams,  she  sought  for  something  of  lighter  tex¬ 
ture.  The  mourning  robe  was  laid  aside,  and  a  dress, 
white  and  fleecy,  wrapped  her  slender  form.  The  cluster¬ 
ing  ringlets  were  smoothed  back,  and  rolled  in  a  heavy 
coil  high  on  the  back  of  her  head. 

“Now  I  will  go  down.  Father  will  be  alone  at  this 
hour,  and — ”  She  paused,  raised  her  sweet  eyes  upward, 
and  clasping  her  hands  she  murmured,  “  Mother  in  heaven, 
plead  for  me.” 

Noiselessly  she  opened  the  door  and  glanced  into  the 
room.  Pier  father  sat  with  his  back  toward  her,  leaning 
on  a  table  over  which  were  scattered  books  and  papers.  In 
his  hand  he  held  the  picture  of  her  mother.  She  drew 
back  a  little,  still,  however,  standing  within  the  door. 
She  dared  not  interrupt  the  sacred  privacy  of  the  houn 


21  2 


THE  GHOST. 


The  rustle  of  her  garments,  light  as  it  was,  must  have 
caught  his  ear,  for  his  bowed  head  was  raised. 

“Mary!  my  wife!  my  own!”  he  cried,  starting  forward, 
with  extended  arms.  “  Thank  God  for  granting  me  one 
glimpse  of  you  again !  ” 

Susie,  awed  and  trembling,  raised  her  eyes  to  see 
clothed  as  in  life,  the  same  sweet,  gentle  face,  the  rippling 
hair,  caught  back  from  the  smooth,  clear  brow. 

“  Mother !  ”  she  breathed  forth. 

The  room  was  lighted  only  by  the  moonbeams ;  but  the 
vision  was  plainly  seen.  Another  eager  glance,  and  Susie 
stole  away  to  her  own  room,  and  sank  almost  fainting  into 
her  mother’s  chair.  A  little  while,  and  grown  calmer,  she 
opened  her  eyes,  to  see  again,  directly  in  front  of  her,  the 
same  vision. 

She  started  forward,  stretching  out  her  arms,  and  calk 
ing  softly,  “  Mother.” 

Nearer — nearer  she  drew,  until,  face  to  face,  she  stood 
beside  the  large  mirror  in  front  of  which  she  had  seated 
herself. 

Unwittingly  in  one  of  her  mother’s  dresses  she  had 
robed  herself,  and  gathered  her  curls  in  the  manner  her 
mother  was  accustomed  to. 

“How  very,  very  like  her  I  am!  Yes,  now  I  know: 
father  saw  me  in  the  mirror  opposite  which  I  stood.  Well, 
I  will  not  break  his  sweet  delusion.  I  meant  it  not, 
Heaven  knows.  Oh,  if  mother  could  only  come  to  him — • 
in  dreams,  perhaps — to  plead  for  me !  I  cannot  desert  him, 
I  cannot  ;  I  dare  not !  But  Frank — oh,  how  can  I  give  him 
up!  I  will  give  up  neither,  but  clinging  to  both  loved  ones, 
will  trust  to  Heaven  for  a  happy  decision.” 

With  this  determination  she  sank  to  sleep,  sweet  and 
Undisturbed. 

Early  next  morning,  as  usual,  she  was  in  the  breakfast- 


THE  GHOST. 


213 


room,  ministering  to  the  little  ones  clustering  around  her. 
The  father’s  frown  had  lost  its  accustomed  sternness,  as  he 
stood  regarding  his  eldest  child.  A  gentle,  sympathetic 
light  was  in  his  eyes  as  they  rested  on  the  sweet  face  grown 
older,  much,  in  those  days  of  anxious  care.  How  matronly 
she  looked  !  So  patiently  listening  to,  and  answering  every 
wish  of  the  little  ones. 

At  last  they  were  all  satisfied ;  and  Susie  seeing,  as  she 
thought,  her  father  deeply  interested  in  the  morning  paper, 
stole  away  to  the  trysting-place. 

“  I  cannot  leave  him,  Frank.  Indeed,  I  never  can  with¬ 
out  his  blessing  resting  on  me.  No,  no !  ”  she  cried,  as  she 
saw  the  disappointed  and  stern  expression  of  her  lover’s 
face,  “  I  have  tried,  in  vain,  to  make  my  mind  up  to  it. 
How  can  I  give  up  either?  loving  you  both  so  well.” 

“You  have  trifled  with  me,  Susie;  you  have  broken 
your  promise,  too.  You  will,  most  likely,  never  see  me 
after  this  morning,  if  I  go  from  you.  Are  you  determined?  ” 

“  Yes,  dear,  dear  Frank,  I  am  determined  not  to  go 
unless  father  blesses  and  bids  me  go.  I  will  trust  my 
happiness  to  him,  and  God,  who  ruleth  all  things/'  Susie 
answered,  looking  very  sorrowful,  notwithstanding  her 
faith. 

“  Then,  good-by.” 

She  raised  her  face,  pale  and  pleading,  to  his  • 

“  Kiss  me  good-by,  Frank,  and  say,  4  God  bless  me/ 
please,”  she  whispered. 

He  did  as  she  pleaded,  but  there  was  an  injured  air  in 
his  manner.  As  he  parted  from  her,  she  sprang  after  him, 
crying : 

“  Forgive  me,  Frank,  if  I  have  wounded  you.  Know 
that  to  me  it  is  worse.  One  little  parting  look  of  love, 
darling !  ” 


\ 


214 


THE  GHOST. 


“  Oh,  Susie,  how  can  you  ?  ”  He  pressed  her  again  to  his 
heart,  looked  lovingly  enough  :  but  his  eyes,  as  plain  as 
words  could,  repeated  Tennyson’s  lines : 

“  Trust  me  all  in  all, 

Or  not  at  all.” 

And^  determined  to  make  one  more  appeal,  he  said . 

“ Susie,  darling!  love!  trust  me  for  happiness.  You 
will  never  repent  it.  Come !  ” 

“  No,  no.  Go  !  ” 

He  turned  off  quickly,  angrily  then;  and  Susie  sank, 
sobbing,  on  the  grass. 

“  My  daughter !  ” 

She  raised  her  eyes,  heavy  with  tears.  Beside  her,  with 
a  sad  but  kind  and  gentle  face,  her  father  stood.  With 
him,  a  puzzled,  doubtful  expression  on  his  features,  hei 
lover. 

“  Oh,  Frank,  I  am  so — so  glad  to  see  you  again  !  ”  she 
cried,  with  as  much  joy  beaming  in  her  eyes  as  though 
their  parting  had  been  for  years. 

“  Yes ;  as  it  is  so  very  long  since  you  saw  him  last !  ”  her 
father  said,  with  a  pleasant  smile. 

“  I  feared  it  would  be  for  years,  perhaps  forever,”  Susie 
said,  in  a  low  voice,  anxiously  regarding  her  father,  and 
longing  to  beg  an  immediate  explanation  of  her  lover’s 
return. 

“  My  daughter,  what  did  you  intend  to  do  after  sending 
off  this  young  man  ?  Be  a  dutiful  child,  and  wed  as  I  wish 
you  ?  ” 

“  Never,  never,  father!  I  intend  to  be  dutiful  only 
so  far  as  not  wedding  against  your  wishes,  that  is  all — to 
leave  the  future  to  God,  only  praying  constantly  that 
some  blessed  influence  may  be  sent  to  change  your  mind 
and  heart,”  Susie  answered,  raising  her  eyes  to  his,  filled 
with  earnest  determination. 


/ 


THE  GHOST.  215 

n  Your  prayers  must  have  commenced  already,  my  child. 
Some  influence  hath  surely  been  sent — some  blessed  influ¬ 
ence,  I  truly  believe.  Yes,  my  child,  you  will  wed  to 
please  your  father.  Here,  Frank,  take  her.  I  ought  to 
scold  you  for  trying  to  coax  her  from  me.  I  heard  it  all 
this  morning.  But  I  forgive  you  for  her  sake,  and  bless 
you,  too,  boy,  for  the  sake  of  the  one  in  heaven  who  loved 
you.  There,  there,  daughter,  don’t  choke  me  with  your 
kisses.  Take  her  off,  Frank,  and  make  her  happy.  She  is 
a  good  child,  and  will  make  a  true  and  loving  wife.  God 
bless  you  both,  my  children  !  ” 

And  so  ended  Susie’s  intended  elopement 


THE  TWO  BROTHERS. 


BY  FRANCES  HENSHAW  BADEN. 

**  A  H,  here  we  are!  ”  said  a  pleasant  voice,  as  the  driver, 

JT\.  having  jumped  from  his  seat,  opened  tne  carriage 
door. 

“Yes,  sir,  I  think  so.  This  is  the  street  and  number — - 
244  or  246,  which  did  you  say  ?  ” 

“  Ton  my  word,  I’ve  forgotten,  and  lost  the  card,”  an¬ 
swered  the  pleasant  voice. 

“  The  name,  sir  ?  I’ll  inquire.” 

“  Never  mind.  I’ll  take  a  look  at  both  houses,  and  see 
if  I  cannot  decide.  I’m  earlier  than  expected,  so  I  can 
look  well  before  they  come  out  to  welcome  me.  Just 
dump  my  luggage  down  on  the  sidewalk,  and  make  off 
for  another  job,”  said  the  old  gentleman,  handing  the  fare 
to  the  man,  who  soon  after  drove  off. 

“  Well,  here  are  two  cottages  alike,  and  very  unlike,  too. 
This  one  is  Charley’s  home,  I  know.  Why?  Because  it 
is  newly  painted.  The  fencing  all  in  perfect  order.  The 
grounds,  although  very  limited,  are  prettily  fixed  up. 
Flowers  and  vines — ah,  I  like  the  looks  of  this  place! 
And  I’m  sure  I’m  right  in  fixing  it  in  my  mind  as 
Charley’s.  Some  don’t-carish  fellow  lives  there — loves  his 
pipe,  cigars  and  wine,  may  be,  better  than  his  home,  wife 
and  children.  Dear,  dear  !  how  those  blinds  are  suffering 
for  a  coat  of  paint !  A  few  dollars  would  make  that  fence 
f216^ 


“THE  TWO  BROTHERS* 


217 


all  right.  How  different  that  entrance  would  look  with  a 
little  rustic  seat  like  this  one!  I  wonder  that  fellow  does 
not  notice  how  much  he  might  improve  his  place,  if  he 
only  did  as  Charley.  But  here  comes  the  servant.  I’ll 
get  her  to  let  me  in.” 

“  Rather  sooner  than  you  expected  me,  ain’t  it?  Folks 
not  up  yet?  Just  go  back  and  open  the  door,  my  girl; 
let  me  in,  and  then  tell  Mr.  Charles  Mayfield  that  his 
uncle  has  come  !  ” 

“  Oh,  sir,  you  mistake!  It  is  next  door  Mr.  Charles  May- 
field  lives,”  answered  the  girl. 

“Next  door?  No;  you  mistake,  surely.  My  nephew 
Charley  can’t  live  there !  ” 

“Yes,  sir.  But  his — ”  What  the  girl  was  going  to  say 
was  stopped  by  a  jovial  voice  in  the  next  door,  calling 
out:  “Uncle,  here!  How  are  you?”  And  a  moment 
more  the  pleasant  old  gentleman  was  caught  by  both 
hands  and  drawn  along  to  the  next  house.  His  nephew 
Charley  saying:  “  I’m  so  delighted  to  see  you!  Come  in !  ” 

Into  the  parlor  he  was  carried,  and  seated  in  a  very 
comfortable  arm-chair.  The  interior  was  more  inviting 
than  the  outside.  It  told  very  plainly  that  the  wife  did 
her  duty  toward  making  everything  as  nice  as  possible ; 
in  a  word,  making  the  best  of  her  means. 

A  very  short  time  after  a  sweet-faced  little  woman  en¬ 
tered,  and  was  presented  by  Charley,  saying: 

“  Here  is  your  niece,  uncle.” 

The  old  gentleman  received  her  welcome  greeting  by  a 
return  of  real  affection.  His  heart  warmed  immediately 
to  his  nephew’s  wife.  She  bore  the  traces  of  beauty  which 
had  been  chased  away  by  an  over-amount  of  care,  the 
uncle  very  soon  felt  sure.  There  was  an  unmistakable 
look  of  weariness  and  anxiety  in  ner  eyes. 

Very  soon  Neilie,  as  Charley  called  her,  excused  herself 


218 


THE  TWO  BROTHERS. 


and  went  out,  saying  she  had  a  very  inexperienced  ser¬ 
vant,  and  had  to  oversee  and  assist  her  in  her  work. 

Breakfast  was  announced,  which  was  one  that  Uncle 
Hiram  enjoyed,  notwithstanding  the  feeling  which  wTas  up¬ 
permost  in  his  mind,  that  the  strong,  fragrant  coffee,  the 
delicate  rolls,  and  the  steak  which  was  cooked  just  as  it 
should  be,  in  a  word,  all  that  was  so  nice,  was  the  result 
of  Nellie’s  skilful  hands.  And  she  looked  so  tired  and 
heated  when  she  sat  down  to  do  the  honors  of  her  table. 
Again  Uncle  Hiram  noticed  that  constantly  her  eyes  wan¬ 
dered  from  the  table  to  a  door  which  entered  the  next 
room,  which  was  partially  opened.  Her  ear  seemed 
strained  to  catch  every  sound.  At  length  a  little,  feeble 
wail  told  the  cause  of  her  anxiety. 

“Will  you  excuse  me  a  moment,  uncle?”  she  asked, 
and  continued:  “  Our  babe  was  quite  sick  all  night,  and  I 
feel  anxious  about  her.” 

A  moment  or  so  after  Nellie  withdrew,  the  servant 
came  in,  bringing  a  fresh  supply  of  hot  rolls.  Then  Uncle 
Hiram  had  a  chance  of  seeing  the  help  Nellie  had  with 
her  many  duties — a  half-grown  girl. 

“  Inexperienced,  truly,  inefficient  and  insufficient,”  said 
the  kind  old  man  to  himself ;  and  he  made  a  note  of  that 
on  the  tablets  of  his  heart. 

Soon  Nellie  came  back,  looking  much  relieved,  and  said, 
smiling : 

“  She  seems  much  better  this  morning.  How  these 
little  ones  fill  our  heart  with  anxiety !  I  was  up  with  her 
all  night !  ” 

Down  went  another  note  on  Uncle  Hiram’s  tablets. 
Awake  all  night  with  a  sick  baby,  and  up  cooking  break¬ 
fast  in  the  morning !  No  wonder  her  youth  and 
beauty  have  been  chased  away,  poor,  weary,  overworked 
mother  \ 


THE  TWO  BROTHERS. 


219 


u  Who  lives  next  door,  Charley  ?  ”  asked  his  uncle,  after 
they  had  withdrawn  from  the  breakfast-room. 

“  Why,  I  have  a  surprise  for  you — Henry  lives  there.” 

“  Henry !  Henry  who  ?  ” 

a  Why,  Henry  Mayfield,  my  brother.” 

“  No!  Why,  the  last  time  I  heard  from  him  he  wras  in 
St.  Louis.” 

“  Well,  he  is  here  now,  and  has  been  for  five  months. 
His  wife’s  relatives  are  all  here.  And  so  he  having  been 
offered  a  position  in  the  same  firm  with  me,  accepted  it. 
We  agreed  to  keep  it  as  a  pleasant  little  surprise  for  you.” 

“  Well,  I’m  glad  of  it.” 

Just  as  Uncle  Hiram  said  so  the  object  of  their  conver- 
Bation  came  in. 

Henry  Mayfield  was  not  the  jovial,  merry  fellow’  that 
Charley  was,  and  not  likely  to  be  so  generally  a  favorite. 
But  there  was  an  earnestness  and  determination  in  his 
bearing  that  inspired  respect  immediately. 

“  Come,  uncle !  Go  in  wTith  me  to  see  my  wife  and  little 
ones,”  said  Henry,  after  sitting  and  talking  a  while.  “  We 
have  a  half  hour  yet  before  business  requires  us,  and  then, 
if  you  like,  we  will  go  down  town  together.” 

Henry’s  parlor,  into  which  he  ushered  his  uncle,  was 
furnished  better  than  his  brother’s ;  but  still  it  was  not  so 
prettily  arranged  —  the  “  woman’s  touch  ”  was  not  so 
plainly  visible.  Immediately  Henry’s  wTife  came  in  to 
welcome  her  husband’s  uncle. 

She  was  a  bright  little  woman,  not  near  so  delicately 
featured  as  Nellie;  but  with  a  youthful,  well-preserved 
look,  an  easy,  quiet,  peaceful  air  about  her  that  made 
Uncle  Hiram  feel  quite  sure,  if  he  stayed  her  guest  a 
month,  it  would  not  put  her  out  a  bit.  If  any  extra  care 
or  worry  came,  it  was  not  to  her.  Some  one  else’s  mind 
and  hands  would  have  to  overcome  any  difficulties. 


220 


THE  TWO  BROTHERS,, 

“  Henry,  dear,  have  our  boy  brought  in  to  see  his  uncle,’1 

she  said. 

“Ah,  ha !  ”  thought  Uncle  Hiram,  “  I  see — the  shoulders 
best  able  to  bear  the  burden  of  family  cares  have  it.  Just 
as  it  should  be !  ” 

A  few  moments,  and  the  baby-boy  was  brought  in  by 
the  nurse  and  presented  to  the  uncle.  Baby,  like  his 
mother,  looked  happy  and  healthy. 

When  they  were  about  leaving  for  down  town,  Uncle 
Hiram  heard  Henry  say : 

“Ada,  please  order  the  cook  to  delay  dinner  an  hour  to¬ 
day.  Uve  business  which  will  delay  me  so  long.” 

“Very  well,”  was  the  smiling  reply. 

“A  cook  and  a  nurse.  That  is  why  Ada  looks  so  calm, 
healthy  and  happy.  Just  as  it  should  be.  Poor  little, 
patient,  over-worked  Nellie !  I  wonder  how  it  is,  both 
having  equal  means.  I  must  find  out  what  the  trouble 
is,”  said  Uncle  Hiram  to  himself. 

Now,  Charley  was  not  a  drinking  man,  his  uncle  felt* 
sure.  He  knew,  indeed,  that  when  he  first  grew  to  man¬ 
hood  he  had  vowed  never  to  touch  rum  in  any  form. 

The  dinner  at  Charley’s  was  better,  if  possible,  than  the 
breakfast.  It  was  a  real  treat  to  the  old  bachelor,  whose 
life  w?s  spent  in  a  boarding-house,  to  partake  of  such 
good,  healthy  fare  as  Nellie  gave  him.  But  always  he 
felt  like  partaking  of  it  under  protest.  Nellie — little, 
weary,  tired  Nellie — ever  filled  his  mind  and  heart.  At 
dinner  Charley  brought  forth  his  ale ,  declaring  it  to  be 
“the  very  best  in  town.”  And  after  dinner  his  cigars, 
“none  finer  to  be  found,”  he  said. 

Now,  Uncle  Hiram  could  partake  of  both  without 
serious  disadvantage  either  to  his  health  or  purse.  But 
caring  very  little  for  either,  he  seldom  used  them.  Du¬ 
ring  the  evening  several  gentlemen  friends  came  in  to 


THE  TWO  BROTHERS. 


221 


call  on  Charley’s  uncle,  and  again  ale  and  cigars  were 
put  out. 

Uncle  Hiram  went  to  calculating.  Ale,  fifty  cents,  at 
least,  that  day;  sometimes  less,  sometimes  more.  Make 
the  average  half  as  much — twTenty-five  cents.  Cigars  ah 
ways  as  much ;  frequently,  as  that  day,  treble  the  amount. 
In  a  month  it  would  sum  up,  to  the  very  lowest,  fifteen 
dollars.  And  who  could  tell  how  much  more  ?  What 
would  not  that  money,  worse  than  lost,  have  secured  for 
Charley’s  wife  and  children  ? 

Rest,  health,  peace  and  length  of  days,  most  likely. 

Now,  Uncle  Hiram  knew  well  enough  how  it  was 
Charley  did  not  have  things  beautiful  without  and  around 
his  premises,  and  why  Nellie’s  weary  mind  and  tired  hands 
could  not  have  help  and  rest. 

But,  next,  he  must  find  out  how  it  was  that  with  Henry 
tilings  were  so  very  different. 

The  following  day  Uncle  Hiram  dined  with  Henry. 
Everything  was  excellent  and  well  cooked ;  and  Ada  sat 
at  the  head  of  the  table,  with  an  easy,  quiet  grace,  which 
perfectly  relieved  Uncle  Hiram’s  mind  from  any  care  for 
her.  He  knew  very  well  Ada’s  husband  sought  in  every 
way  to  relieve  her  of  all  unnecessary  care  and  anxiety. 
After  dinner  came  tea  and  coffee — nothing  more.  When, 
they  retired  from  the  table  Henry  said : 

“  Uncle,  would  you  like  a  cigar  or  pipe  ?  I’ll  get  you 
one  in  a  few  moments,  if  you  say  so.” 

“And  will  you  join  me?”  asked  his  uncle. 

“  I  do  not  use  either.  I  care  not  for  the  weed,  and  think 
it  better  not  to  cultivate  a  taste,”  answered  Henry. 

“  You  are  right,  my  boy — and  how  about  wine  or  ale?  H 

“  Nothing  of  the  kind,  uncle.” 

“  Total  abstinence,  is  it,  Henry? ” 

“  Yes,  sir.” 


222 


THE  TWO  BROTHERS, 


“  I  knew  you  were  a  temperate  man,  as  is  Charley.  But 
he  takes  his  ale,  I  notice,”  said  Uncle  Hiram. 

“  Yes,  I  wish  he  did  not ;  a  man  has  no  idea  how  such 
little  things,  as  he  thinks  them,  draw  upon  his  purse.” 

“  I  know,  I  know !  ”  said  Uncle  Hiram.  And  he  no 
longer  wondered  at  the  difference  in  Charley’s  and  Henry’s 
style  of  living.  And  so  he  had  a  good  talk  with  Charley, 
and  showed  him  how  Henry,  with  the  same  salary,  could 
keep  two  servants  and  beautify  his  home,  and  he  not  be 
able  “  to  keep  his  head  above  water,”  to  use  his  own 
expression. 

“  Yes,  my  boy,  the  cause  is  just  this — the  difference  be¬ 
tween  temperance  and  total  abstinence.  You’ll  try  it  now, 
will  you  not,  for  your  wife’s  sake?  ”  said  Uncle  Hiram. 

“  Indeed  I  will,  sir,  and  with  many  thanks  to  you  ?‘«>r 
opening  my  eyes,”  answered  Charley,  who  really  loved  iiis 
wife,  but  was  thoughtless,  and  never  for  a  moment  had 
considered  himself  at  all  responsible  for  Nellie’s  failing 
health,  strength  and  beauty. 

When  Uncle  Hiram’s  next  visit  was  made,  he  saw,  be¬ 
fore  he  entered  the  house,  that  Charley  had  kept  his  word. 
And  when  Nellie’s  joyous  greeting*  was  sounding  in  his 
ear  he  knew  then  that  all  was  “just  as  it  should  be”  with 
Nellie,  as  well  as  Ada.  And  the  grateful  little  wife  knew 
to  whom  she  was  indebted  for  the  happy  change,  and 
blessed  Uncle  JI:ram  for  it. 


v 


WHAT  HE  LEFT. 


BY  FRANCES  HENSHAW  BADEN. 

“  I  know  not  of  the  truth,  d’ye  see, 

I  tell  the  tale  as  ’twas  told  to  me.” 

MARK  BROWNSON  was  dying,  slowly,  but  surely,  s© 
the  physician  told  his  wife,  and  advised  that  if  he 
had  any  business  to  settle,  it  should  not  be  delayed. 

“  He  is  sinking,  and  even  now  I  see  his  mind  is,  at 
times,  a  little  clouded.  However,  I  suppose  there  is  noth¬ 
ing  of  importance  that  he  should  consider,”  said  the 
doctor. 

t 

“  He  has  made  no  will,”  said  Mrs.  Brownson. 

“  Is  that  necessary  ?  I  did  not  know — ” 

“  I  think  it  is  very  necessary,  doctor,  for  his  children’s 
welfare.  Not  that  I  think  it  at  all  likely  there  can  be  any 
contest  about  what  Mr.  Brownson  has.  Yet  to  provide 
against  any  future  troubles,  it  would  be  prudent,  I  think.” 
The  good  doctor  assented,  but  looked  much  surprised. 
And  well  he  might.  No  one  imagined  old  Mark  Brown¬ 
son  had  anything  to  will.  But  he  was  a  very  eccentric 
man ;  and  the  economical  style  of  his  establishment  was 
likely  one  of  his  notions. 

“Are  you  suffering  much  pain  now,  Mark?”  asked  Mrs. 
Brownson,  a  few  moments  after,  when  she  was  seated  at 
her  b^band’s  bedside.  <223) 


224 


WHAT  HE  LEFT. 


“  Yes,  yes  ;  give  me  my  composing  draught — the  opium 
—anything  to  relieve  me,”  answered  the  suffering  man. 

His  wife  obeyed,  and  after  his  groaning  and  restlessness 
had  ceased,  she  said : 

“  I  want  to  talk  to  you,  Mark.  Can  you  listen  now?  ” 

A  nodded  assent  gave  her  permission  to  proceed. 

“  Do  you  net  think  it  would  be  as  well  for  you  to  express 
your  wishes  with  regard  to  the  disposition  of  your  stocks 
and  other  effects?  You  may  outlive  me,  Mark,  and  this 
tiling  not  be  necessary,  still  I  think  it  better  to  attend 
to  such  business,”  said  Mrs.  Brownson,  closely  watching 
the  effect  her  words  might  have  on  the  sufferer. 

She  had  feared  possibly  they  might  shock  him  severely, 
but  depending  much  on  the  favorable  influence  of  the 
opiate,  she  had  ventured  on  the  business  she  considered  so 
important. 

A  look  of  satisfaction  replaced  the  anxiety  of  a  moment 
before.  She  had  no  longer  cause  for  fear.  Calmly  Mark 
Brownson  heard  her  suggestion,  and  said,  in  a  feeble 
voice : 

“  What  have  I  to  will  ?  ” 

“  Why,  dear,  you  forget.  Your  long  sickness  and  the 
opium — no  wonder  !  There  is  the  stock  in  the  ‘  Liverpool 
Steamship  Company,’  and  that  in  the  ‘Australian  Mining 
Company.’  Surely  you  have  not  forgotten  your  large 
amount  in  our  State  bonds?  And  how  much  vou  have 
in  ‘  Fire  and  Life  Insurance  stock  ’  I  cannot  just  remember 
now.  However,  by  reference  to  the  papers  I  can  tell.” 

Again  she  watched  her  husband's  face.  It  only  ex¬ 
pressed  a  rather  puzzled  brain,  as  though  he  was  trying  to 
remember. 

“  You  have  such  papers?  I  cannot  think,”  he  said. 

“  Don’t  try  to,  dear.  It  is  not  necessary.  I  will  just 
look  over  your  papers,  and  make  a  statement;  and  when 


VP  HAT  HE  LEFT. 


225 


I  read  them  over  to  you  in  presence  of  the  lawyer,  you  can 
assent.  You  wish  an  equal  division  between  myself  and 
our  daughters,  I  know.  Is  it  not  so  ?  ” 

“  Yes,  yes.  You  are  always  right,”  murmured  her  hus¬ 
band. 

“  There,  dear,  go  to  sleep  now.  Some  time  when  you 
are  easy  we  will  fix  this,”  said  Mrs.  Brownson. 

And  the  next  day,  at  an  hour  when  she  knew  her  hus¬ 
band’s  mind  was  best  prepared,  a  lawyer  was  summoned, 
and  a  statement  of  stocks  and  bonds  to  the  amount  of  two 
hundred  thousand  dollars  placed  before  him,  and  Mark 
Brownson  expressed  his  wish  to  have  an  equal  division 
of  his  effects  made  between  his  wife  and  two  children. 

The  will  was  made,  and  duly  signed  and  witnessed  by 
two  of  the  nearest  neighbors  and  the  only  domestic,  a 
worthy  woman  who  had  been  with  Mrs.  Brownson  for 
many  years. 

A  few  days  more,  and  Mark  Brownson  had  passed  from 
earth. 

Many  wondered  at  the  very  quiet  and  unostentatious 
style  of  the  last  services  for  him ;  but  the  widow  had  said: 

“  In  death  it  shall  be  with  him  as  he  always  preferred 
in  life.” 

And  then  when  all  was  over,  and  the  summer  moiiths 
were  coming,  Mrs.  Brownson  sold  out  the  modest  little  es¬ 
tablishment,  and,  with  her  daughters  and  their  faithful 
servant,  went  to  board  by  the  seashore,  at  a  very  fashion¬ 
able  resort;  but,  of  course,  not  to  mingle  in  the  gay 
festivities  of  the  season,  only  to  recruit  her  health,  which 
was  very  much  impared  by  long  attention  to  her  suffering 
husband,  and  to  have  the  girls  escape  the  heat  and  dust 
of  the  citv. 

A  few  days  after  they  were  settled  in  their  new  abode, 
Mrs.  Brownson  said  to  her  attendant: 


226 


WHAT  HE  LEFT. 


“  Margaret,  you  were  very  much  surprised  by  hearing 
Mr.  Brownson’s  will.” 

“Oh,  yes,  ma’am,  indeed  I  was.” 

“Well,  Margaret,  I  do  not  wish  you  to  mention  any* 
thing  about  it  down  here.  Mr.  Brownson,  you  know, 
never  let  it  be  known  to  the  world.  And  so  it  must  be 
for  the  present.  I  do  not  wish  my  daughters  to  be  mar¬ 
ried  for  anything  but  their  own  good  qualities.  They  are 
good  and  beautiful  enough  to  marry  well,  without  having 
any  other  inducements  for  suitors.  Now,  Margaret,  you 
know  just  how  I  feel,  and  what  I  mean  ?  ”  said  the  anxious 
mother. 

“  Certainly  I  do !  And  I  feel  as  much  concerned  about 
my  beautiful  young  ladies  as  you  do,  ma’am.  Never  fear 
but  I  will  look  out  for  their  interest,”  answered  the  worthy 
woman. 

And  to  do  as  she  said,  to  the  best  of  her  understanding, 
Margaret  set  out  for  a  walk  on  the  beach,  with  some  of 
the  other  servants  and  their  escorts,  the  waiters  from  the 
hotel.  And  before  the  next  noon  it  was  well  known  what 
a  good  chance  there  was  for  two  young  men  to  win  as 
beautiful  wives  as  ever  were  seen,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
other  greater  attractions. 

And  very  soon  the  sisters,  Maud  and  May,  were  objects 
of  universal  observation.  Yet  it  was  very  difficult  to  get 
an  introduction,  the  young  gentlemen  all  found ;  for  the 
widow  kept  the  beautiful  girls  very  much  secluded. 

Numberless  were  the  delicate  attentions  paid  them,  h\ 
the  way  of  bouquets,  books,  and  so  on,  sent  by  Margaret* 
and  several  cards  to  Mrs.  Brownson,  with  the  request  for 
an  introduction,  accompanied  by  references — among  which 
came  those  of  Vernon  Wadsworth  and  Harry  Bennett. 

The  first  one  Mrs.  Brownson  knew  well  by  reputation. 
He  was  a  young  physician  of  very  fine  promise,  and.  being 


WHAT  HE  LEFT. 


227 


Of  one  of  the  best  families  in  the  State,  she  considered  him 
worthy  of  her  attention.  The  other,  she  had  heard  since  . 
her  arrival  there,  was  the  possessor  of  a  very  fair  amount 
of  worldly  goods,  the  life-long  accumulation  of  an  old 
miser  uncle.  So,  from  the  many  aspirants,  Mrs.  Brownson 
selected  these  two  to  present  to  her  daughters. 

Just  at  this  time,  Doctor  Alton,  Mrs.  Brownson’s  friend 
and  the  physician  who  had  attended  her  husband,  arrived 
at  the  sea-shore;  and  through  him,  without  any  more 
trouble  or  waiting  the  mother’s  pleasure,  young  Doctor 
Wadsworth  obtained  an  introduction,  and  presented  his 
friend,  Bennett. 

And  although  both  of  these  young  men  did  their  best  to 
keep  back  all  others  by  various  manoeuvres,  many  more 
became  acquainted  with  the  lovely  sisters,  who  soon, 
much  to  their  own  surprise,  became  decidedly  the  belles 
of  that  resort. 

Carefully  Mrs.  Brownson  had  guarded  her  secret  from 
her  girls,  fearing,  perhaps,  it  would  have  a  prejudicial 
effect,  changing  their  sweet,  unassuming  manner,  which 
was  one  of  their  greatest  charms ;  or,  perhaps,  for  other 
motives  best  known  to  herself. 

Although  Doctor  Wadsworth  and  young  Bennett  very 
much  feared  the  approach  of  other  suitors,  it  was  quite 
needless,  for  the  girls  were  best  pleased  with  the  first  who 
had  sought  them  and  drawn  them  forth  from  their  seclu¬ 
sion. 

The  older  one,  Maud,  a  brilliant  brunette,  received  with 
Undisguised  pleasure  the  devoted  attention  of  Harry  Ben¬ 
nett;  while  gentle  little  May,  so  fair  and  timid,  always 
greeted  the  handsome  doctor  by  a  rosy  flush  suffusing  her 
beautiful  face ;  and  then,  from  a  shy,  quick  glance  from 
the  eyes,  that  had  drooped  at  his  approach,  he  would  see 
the  glad  light  that  told  how  welcome  his  coming  was. 


228 


WHAT  HE  LEFT. 


“  We  must  win  them  now,  doctor ;  you  see  how  much 
they  are  admired  and  sought  here.  What  will  it  be  when 
they  are  out  of  their  mourning  robes  and  in  the  gayeties 
of  the  city?  This  is  our  best  chance.  What  say  you?  " 
asked  young  Bennett,  a  fortnight  after  their  introduction. 

“  Say !  That  the  very  idea  of  even  losing  sight  of  that 
gentle,  beautiful  May  for  a  day,  fills  my  heart  with  mis¬ 
giving  and  great  anxiety.  I  tell  you,  I  began  this  affair 
rather  in  fun — ” 

“  You  mean  after  funds,  perhaps  !  ”  interrupted  Bennett. 

A  flush  suffused  Doctor  Wadsworth’s  face  for  an  instant, 
and  he  answered : 

“Well,  I’ll  admit  that  is  not  at  all  objectionable;  but 
really,  no w  that  I  know  May  Brownson,  I  would  not  be 
willing  to  resign  her  to  another  man,  even  if  she  had  not 
a  dollar  in  the  world.” 

There  was  an  expression  about  Harry  Bennett’s  mouth 
that  looked  as  if  his  lips  wanted  to  say :  “  I  don’t  believe 
you” — only  they  did  not  just  dare  to.  Harry  Bennett 
was  as  much  in  love  as  he  could  be  with  any  one  other 
than  himself,  still  he  was  not  going  to  leap  without  look¬ 
ing.  So,  after  learning  a  little  more  than  he  had  already 
heard  from  Margaret,  he  was  called,  very  urgently,  to  the 
city.  After  an  absence  of  only  two  days  he  was  back 
again,  and  stated  to  Doctor  Wadsworth  his  knowledge  of 
Mark  Brownson’s  possessions.  That  evening  Mrs.  Brown- 
son  received  proposals  for  both  of  her  daughters. 

She  must  consider  the  matter,  and  consult  with  her 
friends,  the  prudent  mother  thought  and  said  to  the 
anxious  suitors. 

This  made  them  each  more  determined  to  secure  the 
prize. 

“  Dear  May,  plead  with  your  mother  for  me !  ”  said  the 
ardent  young  doctor. 


WHAT  HE  LEFT. 


229 


“Mamma  will  consent  after  a  while,”  answered  the 
gentle  girl. 

“After  a  while!  Why  not  now?  I  am  going  away 
next  month  for  a  long  time.  I  cannot  leave  you,  May. 
Would  you  wish  me  to?  ” 

May  turned  pale  at  the  thought,  and  raised  her  pleading 
eyes  to  her  mother. 

It  was  enough.  Doctor  Wadsworth  had  used  the  surest 
weapon.  A  separation  was  dreaded  by  both  mother  and 
daughter,  and  each  f<jr  different  reasons.  And  then  it 
wTas  an  easier  thing  for  Harry  Bennett  to  obtain  the 
mother’s  consent,  to  claim  his  love  at  the  same  time. 

Mrs.  Brownson,  after  giving  her  consent,  requested  a 
private  interview  with  her  prospective  sons-in-law.  The 
girls  were  sent  from  the  room,  and  then  Mrs.  Brownson. 
said: 

“  I  have  thought  possibly,  gentlemen,  that  a  very  foolish 
rumor  may  have  reached  your  ears  respecting  the  wealth 
possessed  by  my  daughters,  and  that — excuse  me,  but  I 
must  allude  to  it — this  may  in  a  measure  have  influenced 
your  selecting  them  from  the  many  young  girls  here — ” 

“  Oh,  madam  !  ”  both  men  exclaimed  simultaneously. 

“  If  I  tell  you  they  have  nothing  but  their  pure  hearts 
and  loving  natures,  will  you  not  be  disappointed  ?  ” 

“  No,  madam.  How  can  you  judge  me  so  ?  ”  exclaimed 
both. 

“  I  am  glad  it  is  so.  I  would  not  have  you  marry  my 
daughters  under  false  impressions.” 

“  When  May  is  mine,  I  shall  think  I  have  secured  the 
most  valuable  fortune  any  man  can  have,”  said  the  doctor, 
with  a  really  honest  look  in  his  eyes. 

“  When  Maud  is  mine,  I  shall  know  I  have  secured  all 
I  would  wish,”  added  Harry  Bennett,  with  rather  a  sly 
twinkle  in  his  eyes. 


230 


WHAT  HE  LEFT. 


And  so  it  was  agreed  that  they  should  be  united  there, 
and  after  a  very  private  wedding  leave  for  an  extensive 
bridal  tour. 

“The  old  fox!  Is  she  not  a  sly  one?  She  thought  to 
throw  us  off,  I  do  believe.  But  I  am  as  bright  as  she,” 
said  Harry  Bennett,  after  the  interview. 

Really,  Bennett,  that  is  not  a  very  respectful  way  of 
speaking  of  the  mother  of  your  promised  wife,”  replied 
Doctor  Wadsworth. 

“Well,  no;  you  are  right.  But  just  to  think  of  her 
talking  so  to  us !  ”  answered  Harry,  with  an  air  of  injured 
pride. 

The  ceremony  was  over.  After  an  acquaintance  of  less 
than  six  weeks,  Doctor  Wadsworth  and  Harry  Bennett 
had  won  their  wives. 

And  while  the  brides  had  retired  to  change  their  dress 
for  the  travelling-suit,  the  happy  young  husbands  requested 
to  speak  a  moment  with  their  mother-in-law. 

“  Indeed  you  must  speak;  I  will  not,”  said  Doctor  Wads¬ 
worth,  in  a  low  tone,  as  he  closed  the  door,  and  with  Ben¬ 
nett  approached  Mrs.  Brownson. 

After  a  moment’s  hesitation,  Harry  Bennett  said: 

“  Now,  Mrs.  Brownson,  that  we  have  proved  our  sin¬ 
cerity  and  real  love  for  your  daughters,  there  is  no  reason 
for  any  longer  concealment.’7 

“About  what,  sir?  ”  asked  his  mother-in-law. 

“  Come,  my  dear  madam ;  this  is  entirely  useless.  Yon 
have  tried  and  proved  us.  Now  to  business.” 

“  Really,  Mr.  Bennett,  I  am  at  a  loss  to  understand  you ! 
Will  you  please  to  be  explicit?  ” 

“  Well,  madam,  then  I  must  tell  you  that  I  am  perfectly 
well  aware  that  my  wife  is  entitled  to  the  one-third  of  two 
hundred  thousand  dollars  left  by  her  father.  Now,  my 
dear  madam,  we  are  going  on  a  very  long  and  expensive 


231 


WHAT  HE  LEFT. 

# 

trip,  and  may  need  more  than  I  have  in  ready  money. 
Now,  that  is  just  the  whole  truth,”  said  Harry,  who  had 
gotten  over  his  slight  embarrassment,  and  then  spoke  in  a 
very  business  sort  of  manner. 

Not  so  Doctor  Wadsworth ;  he  seemed  very  much  mor¬ 
tified,  and  looked  as  if  he  wished  he  was  away  from  that 
scene. 

“  Mr.  Bennett,  I  spoke  to  you  about  this  report,  and  told 
you  how  false  it  was,  did  I  not? ” 

“  Oh,  yes,  madam  ;  but  you  see — ” 

“  You  still  believe  this,  even  when  I  again  tell  you  that 
neither  I  nor  my  daughters  have  a  dollar  in  the  world 
beyond  the  small  amount  I  have  now  from  the  sale  of  my 
household  effects?  I  assure  you,  sir,  I  speak  the  truth,” 
said  Mrs.  Brownson,  in  a  tone  and  manner  that  would 
have  enforced  belief. 

But  Harry  Bennett  said,  triumphantly: 

“  Madam,  I  have  seen  Mr.  Brownson’s  will.” 

“ That  will,  my  dear  sir,  is  not  worth  the  paper  it  is  writ¬ 
ten  on.  Mr.  Brownson  was  out  of  his  head,  and  imagined 
he  was  possessed  of  that  sum  in  bonds  and  stock.  If 
you  can  find  any  such  possession,  no  one  would  wel¬ 
come  it  more  gladly  than  I.  You  can  readily  prove  the 
truth.”' 

Harry  Bennett  gazed  bewildered  from  his  mother-in-law 
to  Doctor  Wadsworth,  and  then  said  in  a  low  voice,  as  if 
to  himself: 

“  Caught  and  caged.” 

u  And  I  am  glad  of  it,”  exclaimed  the  doctor,  who  wa3 
truly  glad  of  anything  to  end  that  very  embarrassing  inter¬ 
view.  u  Come,  Bennett,  we  must  arrange  our  trip  to  suit 
the  extent  of  our  purse,  and  be  happy  with  the  prizes  we 
have  won.” 

44  Well,  madam,  I  must  say  that  the  old  gentleman’s  will 


232 


WHAT  HE  LEFT. 


was  worth  something.  For  I’ll  own  up  now,  it  nelped 
very  much  to  secure  you  one  very  nice  young  man  for 
your  son.  I’ll  speak  a  word  for  him,  although  he  has 
been  done  up  to  a  very  Brown  son  !  I’m'  ready  now,  Wads¬ 
worth,  and  we  won’t  shorten  our  trip  one  mile ;  for  I've  got 
a  fortune,  thanks  to  my  old  uncle.  Yes,  and  another ,  I’ll 
have  to  admit  (there  she  is  now),  thanks  to  her  father’s 
will.” 

Mrs.  Brownson  could  not  resist  a  smile.  She  had  no 
misgivings  about  her  children’s  future  happiness.  If  they 
had  not  already  secured  their  husbands’  affection,  she 
knew  they  would  soon ;  for  who  could  help  loving  such 
lovely  girls  I 


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